Boo^s  BY 


A  KING'S  DAUGHTER, $o  85 

DISCONTENT.  AND  OTHER  STORIES,      -        -  75 

DIARY  OF  A  COUNTRY  PASTOR,    ....  45 
FAULT-FINDING  AND  MADELINE  HASCALL'S 

LETTER, '-  45 

MEHETABEL.    A  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION,  75 

ROSEDALE.     A  STORY  OF  SELF-DENIAL,          -  go 


THE 


REVEREND  DIDYMUS  EGO,  M,D, 


OTHER   STORIES 


By    MRS.    H.    C.    GARDNER 


NEW  YORK:  HUNT  &•  EA  TON 
CINCINNA  TI :  CRANSTON  &  STOWE 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES 

THE  REVEREND  DIDYMUS  EGO,  M.D I 

Miss  PHILLISSA'S  LETTERS 51 

NATURAL  HISTORY 139 

"  PROVOKING  ONE  ANOTHER  TO   LOVE  AND  GOOD 

WORKS" 159 

"A  PATCH  ON  THE  KNEE  AND  GLOVES  ON" 189 

SYMPATHY 235 

GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  LAKE  REGION 287 


222S.158 


THE 

REVEREND   DIDYMUS  EGO,  M.  D. 


Rev.  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.,  was  once  a 
small  boy.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  he 
was  once  the  occupant  of  a  cradle,  and 
delighted  himself  with  the  musical  clamor  of  a 
sixpenny  rattle.  Various  incidents  of  his  early 
life  are  yet  extant  which  not  only  confirm  this, 
but  served  in  their  day  to  foreshadow  his  future 
greatness. 

For  instance,  it  is  remembered  that  when  he 
first  opened  his  mouth  in  baby  lamentation  it 
was  discovered  by  his  admiring  attendants  that 
he  had  been  born  with  his  /  teeth  cut.  This 
may  explain  the  absence  in  after  life  of  wisdom 
teeth,  the  material  for  which  had  doubtless  been 
used  up  by  these  adventurous  first-comers.  But 
it  was  not  our  happiness  to  know  him  till  the 
genius  then  in  the  bud  had  become  fully  ma- 
tured, and,  therefore,  we  will  leave  to  abler  pens 
the  pleasure  of  doing  justice  to  his  precocious 


2          The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

youth,  while  we  look  with  becoming  reverence 
upon  his  portrait  as  a  man. 

He  was  rather  above  the  middle  size,  or, 
rather,  he  seemed  so  from  a  peculiarity  habitunl 
to  many  little  men  of  stretching  the  neck  and 
holding  back  the  head  like  a  Bantam  rooster 
when  about  to  crow.  At  a  short  distance  his 
general  aspect  was  dignified  and  imposing.  His 
forehead  was  low,  and,  if  left  to  a  state  of  na- 
ture, would  have  been  covered  with  a  bushy 
growth  of  hair,  but  being  closely  shaven  every 
morning,  resembled,  in  its  gradual  narrow  slope 
from  the  covered  part  of  the  scalp  to  the  bridge 
of  the  nose,  and  also  in  its  persistent  display 
of  hair  roots,  a  miniature  walk  up  a  gentle  de- 
clivity thickly  graveled  with  black  pepper.  He 
wore  spectacles,  blue  ones,  not  from  any  need 
of  their  aid,  but  to  hide  an  obliquity  of  vision 
that  was  somewhat  embarrassing  in  general  so- 
ciety, every  one  supposing  himself  particularly 
addressed,  and  all  replying  at  once,  and  thus 
nearly  deafening  each  other. 

The  hirsute  growth,  defeated  in  its  design  of 
sheltering  the  brow,  avenged  itself  by  shooting 
out  gigantic  boles  from  cheeks  and  chin,  that, 
in  their  varying  tints  of  red  and  brownish 


The  Rmerend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.          3 

yellow,  reminded  one  of  a  gorgeous  autumn 
sunset.  His  mouth  can  best  be  described  by 
calling  it  a  smile ;  not  the  amused  expression 
that  occasionally  illumine  the  features  of  our 
acquaintances,  but  a  continuous  smile  of  no 
particular  meaning,  and  of  no  particular  use 
unless  its  width  and  length  aided  respiration. 
The  slightly-hooked  nose  that  leaned  tenderly 
over  it,  the  eyes  that  engaged  in  business  of 
their  own,  held  no  communion  with  it ;  even 
the  magisterial  depth  and  solemnity  of  voice 
that  rolled  through  its  very  midst  had  no  effect 
whatever  in  the  way  of  disturbing  that  wonder- 
ful smile. 

Do  you  know  him  ?  Of  course  you  do. 
Every  body  knows  him,  and  every  body  is  indig- 
nant if  you  hint  that  you  never  heard  of  him 
before. 

"  Not  know  him  !  "  fairly  shrieked  an  old  lady, 
a  connection  of  his,  when,  before  I  saw  him,  I 
vainly  tried  to  recall  him  to  my  memory,  "  not 
know  the  Reverend  Ego  !  Why  you  must  be 
green  !  Where  have  you  lived  ?  Did  you  not 
hear  of  him  when  he  was  Professor  of — of — of 
Verdigris  in  Muddle  University  ?  Not  know 
him  indeed  ! " 


4          The  Reverend  Didytnus  Ego,  M.  D. 

The  Rev.  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.,  was  not  one 
of  those  careless  laborers  who,  after  sowing  their 
seed  on  the  Sabbath,  leave  it  to  its  own  sweet 
will ;  neither  did  he  calculate  to  wait  many  days 
for  the  appearance  of  the  bread  cast  upon  the 
waters.  Speedy  results  were  looked  for.  It  was 
his  usual  practice  to  spend  Monday  in  looking 
up  those  who  might  have  been  impressed  under 
his  ministrations  of  the  previous  day. 

"  My  friend,"  he  would  say,  stopping  some 
spruce  youth  on  the  sidewalk,  "  did  I  not  see 
you  in  my  congregation  yesterday  ? "  If  an- 
swered in  the  negative,  bursting  sighs  relieved 
the  heart  of  the  preacher  as  he  silently  turned 
away  to  lament  the  benighted  condition  of  his 
companion.  An  affirmative  reply  was  sure  to  be 
followed  by  the  question  :  "  Will  you  be  so  good, 
my  dear  sir,  as  to  specify  what  part  of  the  ser- 
mon was  most  interesting  to  you  ? " 

Now,  it  often  unfortunately  happened  that 
the  simple  youth  had  been  more  intent  upon 
deciding  the  exact  shade  of  the  sparkling  brown 
eyes  so  perversely  hid  under  Miss  Lucy's  silk 
eyelashes,  or  in  noting  the  charming  effect  of 
Miss  Mary's  new  bonnet,  than  in  following  the 
thread  of  the  pulpit  argument.  It  was  curious, 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.          5 

then,  to  observe  the  ingenuity  with  which  he 
would  persuade  the  pastor  that  he  was  so  de- 
lighted with  the  entire  sermon  that  it  would  be 
sacrilege  in  his  eyes  to  distinguish  one  part 
above  the  rest. 

The  man  of  business  when  closely  interro- 
gated did  not,  of  course,  mention  those  schemes 
for  attaining  wealth  that  the  quietude  of  his  Sab- 
bath devotions  presented  in  so  clear  an  aspect, 
neither  was  he  disposed  to  depreciate  any  part 
of  the  sermon  by  an  undue  exaltation  of  the 
rest  Like  the  younger  hearer,  he  readily  ad- 
mitted the  perfection  of  the  whole. 

Encouraged  by  these  and  other  kindred  trib- 
utes to  his  genius,  and  feeling  that  he  ought  to 
overcome  his  characteristic  modesty  and  believe 
more  fully  in  his  own  talents,  on  Tuesday  the 
Reverend  Ego  was  seen  calling  at  the  doors  of 
his  ministerial  brethren  in  the  neighboring 
towns. 

"  Ah,  brother,"  he  would  say  as  soon  as  the 
usual  compliments  were  passed,  "I  hope  you 
had  a  good  time  in  preaching  last  Sabbath.  I 
had  unusual  liberty  and  enlargement.  I  sup- 
pose you  have  heard  about  the  afternoon  ser- 
mon ?  What  do  the  people  here  say  about  it  ? 


6          The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

The  person  thus  questioned  knew  very  well 
that  his  townsmen  were  quite  in  the  dark  as  to 
his  brother's  sermons  or  talents,  but  did  not  like 
to  insinuate  so  unwelcome  a  truth. 

Evading  the  question  he  would  reply :  "  I  go 
out  very  little,  and  much  of  the  news  so  interest- 
ing to  most  people  fails  to  reach  my  study.  I 
presume  that  your  sermon  was  an  excellent  one, 
but  I,  shut  up  here  with  my  books,  have  not 
heard  it  mentioned. 

"  You  lose  a  great  deal,  brother,  by  such  seclu- 
sion. How  can  you  tell  whether  your  labors 
are  appreciated  while  you  hold  yourself  aloof 
from  the  people  during  the  week  ? " 

"  That  is  of  small  consequence  to  me  if  I  feel 
the  approving  smile  of  God.  Such*  knowledge 
might  be  dangerous  for  me.  If  my  congrega- 
tion were  dissatisfied,  I  could  hardly  fail  of  be- 
coming discouraged  ;  if  they  were  pleased,  I  fear 
I  should  not  be  proof  against  the  whispers  of 
vanity.  But  you  are  mistaken  in  supposing 
that  I  keep  aloof  from  them.  My  afternoons  are 
devoted  to  pastoral  labor,  and  are  spent  in  go- 
ing from  house  to  house,  for  the  purpose  of 
having  religious  conversation  and  prayer  with 
my  people." 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.          J 

"  But  you  study  too  much,"  the  Reverend 
Ego  would  urge,  glad  to  leave  the  subject  of 
pastoral  labor ;  "  it  is  a  weariness  to  both  soul 
and  body." 

"  True,  but  I  cannot  preach  without  it" 

"  Well,  there  are  some  who  can't.  I  fear  I 
am  not  thankful  enough  for  the  ability  to  rely 
on  myself.  Why,  instead  of  coming  before  my 
people  worn  out  with  study,  I  am  as  fresh  as  the 
morning.  •  I  feel  as  the  eagle  may  when  he 
spreads  his  strong  pinions  for  an  upward  flight. 
It  is  astonishing  what  can  be  done  if  full  play 
be  given  to  a  man's  mental  powers.  But  it 
would  not  do,  I  suppose,  for  every  one  to  at- 
tempt it." 

"I  think  not." 

"  I  used  to  fear,  brother,"  said  Didymus  in  a 
confidential  tone,  "  that  if  I  neglected  books  I 
should  somehow  fall  behind  the  times.  I  sup- 
pose some  one  told  me  so,  and  I  foolishly  believed 
it.  As  if  the  study  of  any  book  could  compare 
with  the  workings  of  the  immortal  mind  that 
my  Maker  gave  me  !  But  for  the  last  ten  years 
I  have  hardly  studied  at  all,  and  I  find  no  lack, 
as  yet,  of  power  or  knowledge.  On  the  con- 
trary, brother,  when  I  stand  up  to  preach  I  am 


8          The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

as  keen  as  a  brier.  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  every 
one  could  pursue  my  course  and  retain  their  hold 
upon  their  congregation.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
they  could  not" 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you." 

"  Yes.  And  there  are  times  when  you  would 
pity  me.  When  I  see  a  multitude  hanging  upon 
my  lips  for  the  bread  of  life,  and  picking  up,  as 
it  were,  every  crumb  of  truth,  I  realize  the  re- 
sponsibility that  rests  upon  me.  The  sight  of 
my  eyes  affects  my  heart.  Strong  men,  six  feet 
high,  weep  like  little  children  under  my  exhorta- 
tions. Ah,  Brother  H.,  what  am  I,  or  what  is  my 
father's  house,  that  such  talents  should  have  been 
committed  to  my  charge  ?  Wonder  not  that 
sometimes  I  am  led  to  envy  my  ministerial  breth- 
ren. If  they  have  but  one  talent,  they  have  only 
to  account  for  one." 

Brother  H.  drew  a  sigh  of  exceeding  relief 
when  his  visitor  departed,  and  began  turning 
over  the  despised  books  with  unusual  rapidity, 
soliloquizing  the  while  in  a  strain  that  might 
have  convinced  his  late  visitor  of  his  ability  to 
talk  extemporaneously.  He  looked  as  he  felt, 
both  tired  and  vexed. 

A  light  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  a 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.          9 

smiling  face  was  directly  beaming  in  at  the  study 
door.  It  wore  a  roguish  look ;  for  its  owner,  the 
minister's  wife,  knew  exactly  how  far  his  patience 
had  been  tried.  So  with  a  smile  she  said,  "  Ned." 
There  was  no  reply,  but  she  smiled  again,  and 
the  dim  room  lighted  a  little  perforce.  He  knew 
it,  but  he  chose  to  nurse  his  disgust  and  vexation, 
so  he  did  not  speak. 

"Ah,  Ned,  it's  of  no  use."  The  speaker 
was  at  his  side  now,  and  still  bent  on  ex- 
orcising the  evil  spirit  that  had  crept  into  the 
snug  room  unawares.  He  looked  up  involun- 
tarily; their  eyes  met,  and  both  laughed  long 
and  heartily. 

"  Ah,  Ned,"  said  his  wife,  "  you  need  not 
think  to  exclude  me  from  your  sanctum.  Why, 
you  would  have  moped  all  day  if  I  had  not 
hastened  to  the  rescue." 

"  You  are  welcome  at  any  time,  Susy,"  he  re- 
plied, "  but  I  do  wish  there  was  a  law  to  exclude 
jackasses." 

An  exchange  of  pulpits  with  some  neighbor- 
ing clergyman  was  an  event  of  consequence  to 
the  Reverend  Ego.  His  satisfaction  in  hold- 
ing forth  to  a  new  audience  had  but  one 
drawback.  He  felt  sad  that  for  one  short  Sab- 


io        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

bath  his  own   flock  should  be  deprived  of  his 
ministrations. 

"  For  it  is  impossible,"  he  often  remarked  to 
his  wife,  "  for  a  people  who  have  become  accus- 
tomed to  luxurious  food  to  content  themselves 
with  coarse,  plain  fare,  be  it  ever  so  wholesome." 

His  wife,  a  weak  little  nonentity,  one  of  those 
women  especially  designed  for  the  companion- 
ship of  the  Ego  race,  never  failed  to  sympathize 
with  him  or  to  agree  with  him. 

It  was  only  a  few  weeks  after  his  installment 
in  his  eighth  parish  that  he  was  invited  to  ex- 
change with  a  minister  whose  church  was  lo- 
cated in  a  fanning  district  two  miles  distant. 
At  first  he  hesitated.  He  had  hardly  had  time 
to  fully  acquaint  his  own  people  with  the  extent 
of  his  gifts  and  graces ;  for,  impelled  by  a  sense 
of  duty,  he  had  spent  the  last  fortnight  in  the 
parish  from  which  he  had  lately  been  dismissed, 
visiting  the  people,  and  learning  from  their  own 
lips  that  they  had  passed  without  injury  from 
his  supervision  to  that  of  his  successor. 

The  most  gratifying  evidences  of  resignation 
were  shown  in  every  quarter,  and  to  his  most 
minute  and  searching  inquiries  but  one  cheer- 
ing reply  was  given,  and  that  expressive  of 


The  Reverend  Dtdymns  Ego,  M.  D.         \  \ 

intense  satisfaction.  Greatly  edified  by  the 
knowledge  thus  carefully  gleaned,  he  had  re- 
turned to  his  new  charge  with  redoubled  resolu- 
tion to  exert  all  his  talents  in  its  service. 

At  the  very  outset  he  was  met  with  this  in- 
vitation, to  throw  away  an  entire  Sabbath  on  an 
obscure  country  congregation.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  declining  at  once,  when  the  thought  of 
the  admiration  his  oratory  would  command  in 
so  retired  a  section  made  him  hesitate  anew. 
He  walked  the  room  and  argued  the  question 
pro  and  con.  Gradually  his  look  and  step  re- 
gained their  wonted  decision,  and  it  was  with 
his  mind  fully  made  up  that  he  approached  the 
table  to  pen  an  affirmative  note. 

"  I  will  go  !"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  sure  it  will  pay. 
It  will  refresh  me  to  behold  the  artless,  unso- 
phisticated delight  of  an  audience  so  seldom 
favored.  The  old  proverb  is  a  true  one,  '  It  is 
better  to  be  the  head  of  a  hog  than  the  tail  of  a 
lion.'  Besides,  my  own  flock  will  learn  to  ap- 
preciate me  sooner  if  I  leave  them  occasion- 
ally. Now,  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  preacher 
Brother  Whipple  is.  If  he  had  much  talent  he 
would  fill  a  more  conspicuous  place.  That  is 

certain." 
2 


1 2        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  preacher  in  ques- 
tion was  a  liberally-educated  man,  distinguished 
above  his  fellows  by  his  fine  intellectual  powers. 
Though  scarcely  thirty-two  years  of  age,  he  had 
won  an  enviable  reputation  as  an  author,  as  the 
Reverend  Ego  would  have  known  had  he  been 
under  the  necessity  of  reading  much.  His 
powers  as  a  speaker  made  him  a  most  accept- 
able exchange  in  any  of  the  neighboring  pulpits, 
and  his  hearers  were  only  at  a  loss  which  to 
admire  the  most,  the  sublimity  and  beauty  of 
his  thoughts  and  language,  or  the  graceful  and 
unaffected  modesty  of  his  deportment.  Many 
wealthy  parishes  had  tried  to  tempt  him  from 
his  retired  field  of  labor,  offering  him  large  sal- 
aries and  unbounded  opportunities  to  secure 
fame  and  influence;  but  his  affections  were 
bound  to  the  people  of  his  first  charge,  and  he 
would  not  leave  them. 

As  a  matter  of  course  the  congregation  to 
which  he  preached  was  intelligent.  They  could 
not  help  being  instructed  by  his  sermons. 
Many  of  them'  were  wealthy  farmers,  who, 
possessing  a  competence,  had  appropriated  a 
goodly  share  of  their  income  to  the  education 
of  their  families.  Very  few  city  congregations 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.D.        13 

could  boast  of  an  equal  number  of  refined  and 
appreciative  hearers. 

It  was  to  such  persons,  accustomed  to  such 
preaching,  that  the  Reverend  Ego  consented  to 
speak  for  one  Sabbath  only.  Pie  rode  over  dur- 
ing the  previous  week  to  request  Mr.  Whipple 
to  announce  the  exchange,  so  that  none  might 
afterward  regret  having  been  absent  from  church. 
But  Mr.  Whipple  unfortunately  forgot  to  make 
the  announcement  till  it  was  too  late  ;  and,  as  it 
did  not  strike  him  as  being  very  important,  he 
made  no  unusual  efforts  to  circulate  information 
in  regard  to  it.  His  wife,  more  thoughtful  than 
himself  in  such  matters,  was  careful  to  mention 
it  in  the  sewing  society,  so  that  before  the  Sab- 
bath the  proposed  exchange  had  been  duly  pro- 
claimed in  the  remotest  corners  of  the  parish. 

The  Sabbath  came,  fair  and  lovely,  as  cloud- 
less and  beautiful  as  if  it  had  been  made  for 
exchanges.  •  The  Reverend  Ego  arrived  early. 
Mr.  Whipple,  preferring  a  walk  to  the  care  of  his 
horse,  had  already  left  home,  but  Mrs.  Whipple 
was  ready  to  receive  him. 

"  This  is  rather  a  thinly  settled  region,  ma'am," 
he  said  as  soon  as  he  was  seated  comfortably. 
"  I  suppose  your  congregation  is  rather  small." 


14        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

"  We  think  it  quite  respectable  as  to  numbers, 
considering  the  distance  many  have  to  come." 

"  How  large  is  it  ? " 

"  On  pleasant  days  we  have  about  a  hundred 
in  the  morning,  in  the  afternoon  twice  that 
number." 

"  Quite  a  difference.  But  then  people  will 
not  go  all  day  unless  they  are  particularly  in- 
terested. I  have  always  been  able  to  keep  up 
the  interest  of  my  hearers.  After  my  first  ser- 
mon I  have  no  difficulty.  I  make  no  special 
effort,  but  somehow  I  succeed.  You  know, 
ma'am,  that  some  preachers  have  the  faculty  of 
attracting  the  old  and  young.  They  don't  seek 
popularity,  but  they  are  always  popular.  Why, 
I  never  find  the  slightest  difficulty  in  filling  a 
house  with  attentive  hearers." 

"  You  are  fortunate,  indeed." 

"  But  I  am  not  elated.  Far  be  it  from  me  to 
overvalue  myself,  or  to  sound  my  own  praises. 
I  am  naturally  humble.  By  the  way,  allow  me 
to  ask  if  our  exchange  was  publicly  given 
out?" 

"  No,  sir.  Mr.  Whipple  forgot  to  mention  it. 
But  it  will  make  no  difference,"  said  the  lady, 
trying  to  soothe  his  evident  discomfiture;  "for, 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        1 5 

of  course,  the  people  will  know  it  as  soon  as 
they  see  you." 

"  Ma'am,  it  was  to  draw  them  out  to  fill  up 
the  vacant  pews  that  I  desired  them  to  be  in- 
formed of  my  coming." 

Mrs.  Whipple's  amused  look  was  a  puzzle  to 
him,  and  so  was  the  quiet  manner  in  which  she 
replied  :  "  I  mentioned  it  in  the  sewing  circle, 
and  I  dare  say  it  is  generally  known.  But  if 
you  have  depended  on  a  large  morning  congre- 
gation I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed.  If 
the  angel  Gabriel  was  expected  our  thrifty 
farmers  would  attend  to  their  chores  before 
hearing  him.  Mr.  Whipple's  forgetfulness  will 
really  make  no  difference,  sir." 

He  did  not  reply,  and  Mrs.  Whipple  ventured 
to  change  the  subject  of  conversation.  "  Have 
you  ever  resided  in  this  part  of  the  country  be- 
fore coming  to  Newlington  ?" 

u  No.  I  have  lived  in  Massachusetts  ;  I  am 
a  traveler,  however,  and  have  visited  most  of 
the  New  England  States." 

"  You  find  beautiful  scenery  in  this  region,  I 
suppose.  We  are  charmed  with  the  lovely  and 
varied  views  that  are  seen  from  every  hill  around 
us.  Indeed,  every  window  of  our  house  com- 


1 6        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

mamls  a  fine  prospect.  We  never  tire  of  it.  My 
husband  often  says  that,  like  a  faithful  friend, 
the  landscape  grows  more  delightful  the  more 
he  becomes  acquainted  with  it.  He  prizes  every 
tree,  and  I  think  would  mourn  over  the  removal 
of  the  smallest  clump  of  rough  bushes  that  grows 
on  the  hill-side." 

"You  think  the  people  generally  understand 
the  arrangement  for  to-day  ?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  O,  yes  !  If  they  think  about  it  at  all,  they 
do." 

"  Ah,  well,  we  will  try  to  make  the  best 
of  it!" 

He  again  relapsed  into  silence,  from  which 
Mrs.  Whipple  made  no  effort  to  arouse  him. 
She  had  expected  to  accompany  him  to  church, 
but  finding,  on  inquiry,  that  he  was  used  to  hot 
Sunday  dinners,  and  could  not  preach  in  the 
afternoon  without  one,  she  concluded  to  stay 
at  home  and  prepare  one  with  as  little  labor  as 
possible. 

"I  hope  Henry  will  find  out  before  he  ex- 
changes again  whether  I  am  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  keeping  the  Sabbath  or  not."  This  was 
her  first  thought  on  being  left  to  herself.  Then 
she  thought  of  the  probable  size  of  the  audience. 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.         17 

with  a  nervous  anxiety,  as  if  herself  accountable 
for  tardy  comers.  It  was  haying  time,  when 
the  out-door  labors  of  the  farmer  are  most  ex- 
hausting, and  his  inclination  to  rest  on  the 
Sabbath  is  often  too  strong  to  permit  his  attend- 
ance upon  the  ministry  of  the  word.  "  It  is 
wrong,  to  be  sure,"  mused  Mrs.  Whipple,  "for 
religion  should  be  the  primary  interest ;  but  who 
can  help  it  ?  Then — O,  dear  ! "  she  suddenly 
exclaimed  aloud,  "  there  is  old  Mrs.  Mason's 
funeral  this  morning.  They  are  all  spiritualists, 
and  the  novelty  will  draw  away  half  of  our  usual 
audience."  She  would  have  been  quite  dis- 
mayed by  the  discouraging  prospect,  but  she 
had  no  time  to  contemplate  it.  The  dinner 
was  to  be  cooked.  By  a  little  hurrying  she 
soon  had  every  thing  in  the  kitchen  progress- 
ing favorably,  and  had  quietly  seated  herself 
with  a  book  in  her  hand,  when  the  door  opened 
and  an  invalid  sister  entered. 

"Why,  Linda!"  said  Mrs.  Whipple,  "is  it 
you  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  bored  to  death.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  come  to  church  for  six  weeks,  you 
know;"  and,  made  a  little  childish  by  long  con- 
tinued suffering,  the  poor  girl  burst  into  tears. 


1 8        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

"  I  wish  I  had  stayed  at  home."  she  added ; 
"  why  didn't  you  tell  me  who  was  coming  to 
preach  ?" 

"  There,  there,"  said  Mrs.  Whipple,  soothing- 
ly, "be  quiet,  Linda.  You  are  too  weak  and 
nervous  to  venture  out.  I  wonder  that  mother 
permitted  it.  Lie  down  on  the  sofa.  Here  is 
some  of  mother's  famous  cordial.  You  will  feel 
better  directly." 

"  I  do  already,  I  can  breathe  again.  Tell  me, 
Eliza,  who  is  this  incubus  that  fills  Henry's 
place  to-day?" 

"  Hush,  hush,  little  sister.  You  shall  speak 
with  more  reverence  or  I  will  not  talk  with  you." 

"  I  can  read  your  looks,  Mrs.  Decorum,  you 
like  him  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  him  ;  and,  Linda,  I  hope  it 
was  no  silly  prejudice  that  drove  you  out  of 
church." 

"  No.  Don't  look  so  grave.  I  was  really  ill. 
And — and  he  was  unendurable  too.  He  thinks 
we  are  a  set  of  fools.  He  was  defining  the 
word  navigation  when  I  came  out.  Didn't  I 
wish  that  he  was  studying  the  science  practi- 
cally in  mid  ocean!" 

"  Now  do  stop  talking,  Linda.     I  am  going 


The  Reverend  Didymns  Ego,  M.  D.         1 9 

down  into  the  kitchen  to  see  to  the  dinner.  Try 
to  catch  a  nap  while  I  am  busy.  Stop  thinking 
if  you  can,  and  shut  your  eyes.  You  are  too 
excitable." 

"  Excitable  ! "  repeated  Linda,  but  her  sister 
had  vanished  down  the  stairs.  Obliged  to  be 
silent,  she  lay  still,  and  soon  a  light  slumber, 
the  effect  of  the  cordial,  stole  over  her  senses. 
She  would  soon  have  slept  profoundly,  but  the 
morning  service  was  over,  and  the  entrance  of 
the  minister  awakened  her. 

"  Don't  get  up,  Miss,"  he  said  as  Linda  started 
to  a  sitting  posture.  "  Don't  get  up  on  my  ac- 
count. I  am  not  particular  about  a  seat.  Did 
I  not  see  you  leave  the  church  ? " 

"  I  was  not  well,  and  was  obliged  to  come 
out." 

"  So  I  supposed.     Are  you  better  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  remain  during 
the  sermon  this  afternoon.  I  have  a  subject 
that  will  be  interesting,  and,  I  think,  a  novelty 
here." 

"  I  think  I  shall  not  be  able  to  hear  it." 

"  You  find  sickness  a  great  cross,  doubtless. 
It  must  have  been  a  trial  to  you  to-day  to  inter- 


20        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

rupt  a  train  of  thought  newly  started.  I  think 
you  were  obliged  to  leave  in  the  middle  of  the 
discourse.  If  you  will  tell  me  at  what  point  of 
the  sermon  you  went  out  I  will  complete  the 
argument  for  you." 

"  O,  no,"  said  Linda,  earnestly,  "  I  could  not 
think  of  giving  you  the  trouble." 

"  It  is  no  trouble,  Miss.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
minister  to  the  comfort  of  an  invalid.  I  spend 
my  happiest  hours  by  the  bedsides  of  the  sick, 
repeating  to  them  the  sermons  that  they  could 
not  otherwise  hear,  and  often  being  able  to  add 
to  the  results  of  their  public  delivery." 

"  Are  there  not  a  good  many  deaths  in  your 
parish?"  asked  Linda. 

"  Linda  !  Linda ! "  called  her  sister  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  am  coming,"  she  answered,  springing  up 
with  alacrity. 

"You  heard  enough  of  my  sermon,  Miss," 
said  the  Reverend  Ego,  "  to  judge  of  my  seafar- 
ing illustrations.  A  little  remarkable,  you  will 
call  them,  when  I  inform  you  that  I  was  never 
out  of  sight  of  land  in  my  life." 

"  Possible  ?  Why,  one  would  have  thought 
that  your  life  had  been  spent  on  the  ocean, 


Che  Reverettd  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        2 1 

and  that  this  morning  saw  your  first  land- 
ing." 

"Linda!  Linda!"  again  called  her  sister, 
with  a  voice  expressive  of  both  mirth  and  vexa- 
tion. Thus  urged,  Linda  left  the  minister  to  his 
own  thoughts. 

The  number  of  carriages  that  drove  into  the 
church  inclosure  during  the  noon  recess  con- 
vinced the  Reverend  Ego  that  his  fame  was 
already  spreading.  Forgetting  Mrs.  Whipple's 
account  of  the  afternoon  worshipers,  he  almost 
convulsed  Linda  at  the  table  by  saying,  "  A 
goodly  number  seem  to  be  on  their  way  to  the 
sanctuary.  I  presume  the  few  who  were  pres- 
ent this  morning  have  now  made  it  known  that 
I 'am  here." 

More  amused  still  was  the  nervous  girl  when, 
after  the  close  of  the  service  in  church,  he  re- 
marked to  her  sister,  "  Tell  your  husband  to 
take  courage,  I  have  doubled  the  congregation. 
A  decided  success  !  He  must  try  now  to  keep 
up  the  interest.  I  will  direct  him,  or  I  will  ride 
over  myself  and  give  an  impulse  to  the  work  at 
any  time.  A  decided  success,  ma'am." 

In  spite  of  the  Reverend  Ego's  unbounded 
popularity,  as  evidenced  by  the  Monday  confes- 


22        The  Reverend  Didymus  Egv,  M.  D. 

sions  of  his  audience,  it  so  happened  that  before 
he  was  fairly  established  in  one  parish  he  was 
by  some  means  ousted  out  of  it  into  another, 
and  this  before  he  had  half  exhibited  his  orator- 
ical powers.  No  man  ever  inveighed  more 
stoutly  or  earnestly  against  an  itinerant  minis- 
try ;  yet,  helpless  as  a  fly  in  a  cobweb,  he  was 
perpetually  itinerating.  There  were  always 
some  unreasonable  deacons  or  chief  men  who 
insisted  on  a  change  of  preachers  in  defiance 
of  the  tearful  remonstrances  which,  he  was  sure, 
were  uttered  by  the  mass  of  his  parishioners. 

He  was  in  the  market  nearly  half  of  his  time, 
and  expended  incredible  sums  in  the  purchase 
of  daguerreotypes,  to  be  distributed  among  his 
disconsolate  admirers  in  the  various  places 
where  he  had  labored.  A  sense  of  the  heavy 
losses  sustained  by  these  societies  on  account 
of  his  removal  at  length  so  affected  his  mind 
and  depressed  his  spirits  that  he  at  last  re- 
solved, with  tears,  that  if  he  was  ejected  from 
Newlington  he  would  give  up  preaching  rather 
than  subject  another  people  to  such  grievous 
trials. 

Acting  on  this  resolution,  it  was  scarcely 
three  months  after  the  exchange  before,  by  a 


TJie  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        23 

natural  transition,  he  ceased  his  ministrations 
to  the  souls  of  his  fellow-men  and  bethought 
himself  of  the  welfare  of  their  perishing  bodies. 
He  attended  a  course  of  medical  lectures,  pro- 
cured a  great  quantity  of  bottles,  boxes,  and 
drugs,  and  began  at  once  to  roll  up  pills  and 
concoct  pukes  with  all  the  dignity  of  an  experi- 
enced physician. 

As  a  doctor  he  did  not  give  up  the  Rev. 
prefix  to  his  name  ;  but,  by  the  imposing  addi- 
tion of  M.D.,  secured  a  handle  at  both  ends  of 
it.  He  was  still  ready  to  fill  up  the  vacant 
days  incident  to  a  new  calling  by  occasional 
flights  into  the  ideal  regions  of  the  old.  But 
in  the  new  profession  he  seemed  to  have  found 
the  place  for  which  nature  designed  him.  In 
no  other  way  could  he  do  so  large  a  business 
with  so  small  a  capital  of  knowledge.  The 
ability  to  decry  other  practitioners  and  to  set 
forth  his  own  merits  came  as  naturally  to  him 
as  if  he  had  been  born  a  doctor,  and  the  won- 
derful cures  that  he  now  recollected  as  having 
been  wrought  by  him  when  a  mere  child  aided 
him  essentially  in  securing  a  place  to  commence 
his  practice.  It  was  in  a  populous  village,  and 
was  favored  with  only  one  physician,  an  old 


24        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

man  of  long-established  reputation  for  skill  and 
knowledge.  Dr.  Ego  laughed  at  the  idea  of 
this  old  man's  maintaining  a  rivalry  with  him. 
He  mentally  contrasted  the  reserved  and  some- 
what haughty  manner  of  the  old  doctor  with  his 
own  continuous  smile  and  prominent  I — teeth, 
and  the  old  man  dwindled  to  a  mere  mote  in  the 
sunbeam. 

Yet,  as  weeks  and  months  rolled  on,  he  was 
obliged  to  confess  to  himself  that  the  days  spent 
in  riding  to  visit  imaginary  patients  came  oft- 
ener  than  was  agreeable,  and  that  it  was  weari- 
some thus  to  keep  up  a  show  of  an  extensive 
practice.  Very  few  cases  of  real  sickness  came 
under  his  care.  Those  who  believed  in  him, 
and  listened  with  interest  to  his  accounts  of  his 
former  successes,  seemed  -to  be  endowed  with 
iron  constitutions  and  were  never  ill.  Even 
those  that  he  met  in  the  village  stores,  and 
kindly  alarmed  by  feeling  their  pulse  and  ex- 
amining their  tongues,  went  straight  to  the 
office  of  the  old  doctor  and  had  their  fears  dis- 
pelled immediately. 

There  were  a  few  dear,  considerate  souls, 
martyrs  to  the  interests  of  science,  who  seemed 
to  be  created  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  test 


The  Reverend Di'dymus  Ego,  M.  D.        25 

the  value  of  every  new  medicine.  None  of  the 
various  kinds  advertised  in  the  newspapers  es- 
caped their  no  ice,  but  each,  as  it  appeared,  was 
faithfully  tried  and  believed  in.  To  such  a  new 
doctor  was  a  perfect  godsend.  No  need  now  of 
sending  to  distant  cities  for  the  newest  style  of 
emetics,  but  drugs  enough  to  nauseate  the  rest  of 
their  existence  were  brought  to  their  very  doors. 

Asa  means  of  attracting  attention  to  himself, 
and  thereby  increasing  his  practice,  Dr.  Ego 
began  to  accompany  his  wife  to  the  sewing  cir- 
cles of  the  charitable  societies  of  the  village, 
and  to  speak  occasionally  in  the  Lyceum  meet- 
ings of  the  young  men.  In  the  first,  by  a  little 
managing,  he  contrived  to  monopolize  the  con- 
versation, and  to  confine  it  to  the  subject  of 
medical  practice.  Wonderful  were  the  powers 
of  memory  that  he  displayed  on  these  occasions, 
and  wonderful  also  were  the  reminiscences  of 
the  surgical  skill  of  his  youth  that  he  repeated 
for  the  entertainment  of  the  ladies. 

Early  in  the  autumn  it  was  proposed  that  a 
course  of  lectures  should  be  given  at  the  Lyceum 
hall.  The  clergymen,  lawyers,  and  physicians 
each  received  an  invitation  to  give  one  lecture 
of  the  course. 


26        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

Dr.  Ego  hesitated.  "  I  should  be  glad  to 
oblige  you,"  he  sa'id  to  the  young  committee 
who  waited  on  him,  "but  1  should  have  to  give 
you  an  extempore  speech.  I.  have  now  many 
patients,  most  of  them  desperately  sick,  and  I 
cannot  command  a  moment's  leisure.  I  have 
thought  of  getting  an  assistant,  for  my  health 
really  suffers  under  the  constant  demands  of  the 
public,  but  I  fear  my  patients  are  too  much  at- 
tached to  me  to  receive  another  in  my  place. 
Nevertheless,  it  may  be  that  a  season  of  health 
will  soon  be  granted,  and  in  that  case  I  shall 
be  happy  to  give  the  last  lecture  of  the  course." 

As  none  of  the  young  men  could  call  to  mind 
a  single  instance  of  illness  among  his  acquaint- 
ance, they  were  very  little  impressed  by  the 
doctor's  statement. 

"  Now,  said  he,  after  their  departure,  "  now  I 
have  got  a  chance  to  shine.  I'll  write  a  lecture 
that  will  open  their  eyes.  I  have  got  three 
months  to  do  it.  Oratory  i.,  my  forte,  and 
these  worshipers  of  the  old  doctor  shall  find  it 
out." 

"It  is  nothing  but  mortal  sickness  and  re- 
markable cures,"  said  a  young  minister's  wife  to 
a  friend  as  they  wended  their  way  to  the  sewing 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.D.        27 

circle.  "  I  am  sick  of  hearing  the  details  of  the 
sick-room,  and  of  his  operations  as  a  surgeon. 
It  was  a  positive  relief  to  me  last  week  when  old 
Jonas  Ballon  interrupted  him  with  a  description 
of  his  method  of  cutting  up  and  salting  a  hog." 

"  Well,  we  can't  help  it.  We  must  bear  it 
patiently." 

"  Patiently  !  I  think  your  looks,  Mrs.  Grant, 
usually  express  any  thing  but  patience.  And 
in  my  creed  patience  is  not  an  idiotic  grace  ;  so, 
for  one,  I  intend  to  ignore  its  existence  in  this 
case.  If  you  will  second  me,  there  shall  be 
subjects  discussed  this  evening  that  have  no 
connection  with  broken  bones  or  colic." 

"  Agreed.  But  he  will  be  in  full  blast  before 
we  arrive.  There  is  no  chance  if  he  begins  first. 
It  is  a  pity  that  you  were  detained  by  that  poor 
woman,  for  I  really  believe,  Mrs.  Elliot,  that  you 
would  out-general  him  on  a  fair  field." 

"I  will  do  it  now.  Pray  don't  laugh  at  me. 
I  will  interrupt  him  as  he  dees  us.  I  will  talk 
in  concert  with  him  if  no  other  way  will  do.  I 
will  break  up  his  monopoly  of  our  talking  rights, 
if  I  make  him  angry  in  downright  earnest. 
Hark ! " 

The   friends    had    reached    the   vestry  door, 
3 


28        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

where  the  society  held  their  meeting.  They 
exchanged  intelligent  glances,  and  both  laughed 
as  they  recognized  the  nasal  utterance  of  Dr. 
Ego.  He  was  reading  aloud. 

"Already  intrenched,"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  "and 
fortified  against  a  siege." 

"  Hush  !  They  will  hear  us.  Let  us  enter 
with  becoming  gravity." 

Dr.  Ego  laid  down  his  book  as  the  ladies  en- 
tered. "  You  see,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elliot,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  forget  none  of  our  rules.  It  was  voted 
at  our  last  meeting  that  an  hour  of  our  time 
should  be  spent  in  listening  to  the  reading  of 
some  valuable  work,  and  I  have  brought  in  a 
treatise  on  Anatomy  for  that  purpose.  If  you 
please,  I  will  go  on  with  it." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir.  I  was  requested,  you  will 
recollect,  to  select  the  book  for  this  occasion. 
Netty  Lane,  you  are  a  fine  reader,  and  it  will 
give  us  all  pleasure  if  you  will  read  to  us." 

Mrs.  Elliot  was  the  president  of  the  society ; 
and  little  Netty  Lane,  in  her  reverence  for  the 
minister's  lady,  did  not  dream  of  offering  any 
opposition  to  her  wishes.  So  she  readily  came 
forward  and  took  the  book,  and  the  ladies,  with 
a  look  of  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Elliot,  turned  with 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        29 

alacrity  to  listen  to  Lieutenant  Lynch's  account 
of  his  visit  to  the  Dead  Sea.  Not  a  whisper 
interrupted  the  reading,  and  nothing  but  the 
clipping  of  scissors,  the  snapping  of  sewing  silk 
or  thread,  was  heard,  save  the  sweet  voice  of 
the  young  reader,  till  the  allotted  hour  had 
expired. 

"  A  very  interesting  account,"  said  Dr.  Ego, 
speaking  before  the  book  was  fairly  closed,  "  and 
it  treats  of  an  interesting  part  of  the  world.  To 
be  sure  there  is  not  so  full  a  description  of  the 
inhabitants  of  those  regions  as  we  could  desire, 
but  if  you  please,  ladies,  I  will  add  the  neces- 
sary information  to  this  fine  narrative.  We  will 
begin  with  what  is  of  vital  importance  to  any 
people ;  namely,  the  diseases  to  which  those 
nations  are  subject.  Now,  in  the  first  place, 
we  must  take  into  consideration — " 

"  Mrs.  Clarke,"  said  Mrs.  Elliot,  in  a  loud, 
clear  voice,  "  will  you  oblige  me  by  matching 
this  striped  gingham.  You  are  a  genius  in  such 
matters." 

"  That  in  form,  as  well  as  color,"  pursued  the 
doctor,  "  the  Orientals — " 

"Look,  Mrs.  Grant!"  exclaimed  Mis.  Elliot. 
•'  Do  come  here,  ladies." 


30        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

All  crowded  hastily  around  the  table  where 
she  stood,  each  one,  with  the  quick  percep- 
tion of  her  sex,  beginning  to  understand  the 
reason  of  these  frequent  interruptions,  and  to 
enjoy  them.  It  was  only  a  bit  of  ordinary  em- 
broidery on  a  baby-sleeve  that  the  lady  ex- 
hibited, but  its  pattern  and  finish  elicited  a 
long  discussion. 

Mrs.  Grant  purposely  opposed  her  friend,  and 
refused  to  see  either  beauty  or  fitness  in  the 
article  examined.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
either  lady  would  give  up  the  contest  of  words, 
and  a  full  half  hour  elapsed  before  quietude 
took  the  place  of  the  apparent  confusion.  Then 
an  old  lady,  who  had  been  knitting  and  taking 
snuff,  unmindful  of  the  discord,  inquired  if  Dr. 
Ego  attended  little  Johnny  Loud,  who  had  bro- 
ken his  leg. 

"I  was  in  to  see  him  this  morning,"  he  re- 
plied, evading  her  question. 

"Well,  doctor,  how  is  the  boy?" 

"  It's  a  bad  case,  ma'am.     A  very  bad  case." 

"  Why,  you  don't  think  he'll  die,  do  you  ?" 

"Perhaps  not.  He  has  youth  on  his  side. 
Hut  he  will  lose  the  limb.  It  was  not  properly 
set  at  first." 


TJie  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.         3 1 

"  Who  set  it  ? " 

"  Old  Dr.  B.  I  was  out  of  town  unfortunate- 
ly, and  no  doubt  the  old  doctor  did  the  best  he 
could.  Surgery  is  too  little  understood  by  the 
old  school,  and  I  fear  that  many  operations  are 
performed  at  a  venture.  Now  I  have  been  told 
that  Dr.  B.  once  actually  set  a  woman's  leg  the 
wrong  side  before,  and  that  she  has  been  obliged 
to  use  it  so  ever  since.  It  is  a  great  pity,  ma'am, 
because  an  old  doctor  cannot  afford  to  lose  his 
reputation  for  skill.  I  fear  that  Dr.  B.  will  find 
it  difficult  now  to  compete  with  younger  and 
better  educated  surgeons." 

"  I  can  relieve  your  fears  in  regard  to  him," 
said  Mrs.  Grant.  "  Dr.  B.'s  surgical  abilities 
are  too  well  known  to  be  doubted.  And  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  must  have  been  a  miracle  of  skill 
that  enabled  the  poor  woman  to  walk  in  two 
opposite  directions  at  the  same  time." 

A  chorus  of  laughter  repaid  Mrs.  Grant  for 
her  little  attempt  at  sharpshooting ;  but  Dr. 
Ego  did  not  join  in  it.  Turning  to  his  first 
questioner,  he  continued  :  "The  little  Loud  boy, 
ma'am,  is  in  a  critical  state.  The  injury  was 
a  simple  fracture  at  first,  but  it  has  become  in- 
flamed by  improper  dressings,  and  will,  doubt- 


32        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

less,  mortify.  I  will  explain  to  you  all  the 
nature  of  the  injury  and  the  proper  treatment 
of  such  a  case." 

"  O  please  don't,"  almost  screamed  a  young 
lady.  "  I  had  the  horrors  all  night  after  our  last 
meeting.  I  dreamed  of  skeletons  and  small- 
pox, and  was  really  ill  the  next  day.  I  am  too 
nervous  to  hear  such  things." 

"You  remind  me,"  said  the  doctor,  giving 
up  reluctantly  his  promised  explanation,  "you 
remind  me,  Miss  Caroline,  of  my  wife's  Cousin 
Phebe-  She  stayed  with  us  during  the  cholera 
season,  and  I  could  hardly  give  Mrs.  Ego  a 
description  of  a  patient,  but  Phebe  would  be 
directly  attacked  with  corresponding  symptoms. 
Speaking  of  cholera,  I  had  one  case  that  was 
almost  too  much  for  my  skill.  When  I  first  saw 
the  patient  I  thought  it  a  hopeless  case.  He 
was  in  the  last  stage  of  the  fatal  malady.  But 
we  physicians  never  despair  while  there  is  life, 
and  I  began  at  once  to  take  the  proper  measures 
to  restore  him.  I  will  tell  you,  Miss  Caroline, 
just  how  he  was  taken.  On  Monday — let  me 
think — yes,  it  was  on  Monday — " 

A  loud  rap  on  the  table,  Mrs.  Elliot's  signal 
for  silence,  made  him  pause.  "  Several  of  our 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        33 

young  ladies,"  she  said,  "  have  volunteered  to 
give  us  some  music,  which  I  am  sure  will  be 
agreeable  to  all.  Mrs.  Grant,  your  place  is  at 
the  melodeon." 

A  small  melodeon  had  been  purchased  by  the 
society  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  their  meetings, 
and  Mrs.  Grant  readily  took  her  seat  before  the 
instrument. 

"  Now,  if  you  please,"  continued  Mrs.  Elliot, 
as  she  saw  the  doctor  opening  his  mouth  to 
proceed  with  his  story,  "  we  will  not  annoy  our 
kind  musicians  by  the  too  common  incivility  of 
talking  while  they  are  endeavoring  to  give  us 
pleasure." 

The  singing  lasted  a  long  time.  The  gentle- 
men, who  usually  came  to  tea,  began  to  drop  in 
one  by  one  as  the  daylight  faded,  but  many  of 
them  were  singers,  and  their  coming  only  added 
length  as  well  as  strength  to  the  musical  treat. 
Only  once  did  they  pause,  and  then  it  was  to 
decide  which  of  several  pieces,  solicited  by  the 
company,  should  be  first  sung.  Dr.  Ego  hasti- 
ly availed  himself  of  the  short  breathing  spell. 
"Have  you  seen  the  'Daily  News'  for  to-day, 
Mr.  Peyton  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No.  sir.     The  mail  has  not  arrived." 


34        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

"  Yesterday's  paper  had  a  sad  account  of  a 
murder,  a  poisoning  case." 

"  I  did  not  notice  it." 

"  Strange  how  common  such  cases  have  be- 
come. When  I  commenced  my  practice,  not 
one  physician  in  a  hundred  was  called  to  pre- 
scribe for  a  case  of  real  poisoning.  Many  of  the 
antidotes  now  in  use  were  unknown,  except  to 
a  few  fortunate  ones.  I  was  called  once  to  visit 
a  woman  who  had  been  on  bad  terms  with  her 
husband  for  some  months,  and  who  was  taken 
ill  very  suddenly.  The  moment  I  saw  her  I 
suspected  the  truth." 

"  Did  she  die  ?"  asked  several  voices. 

"No,  indeed.  She  must  have  died,  though, 
if  they  had  called  in  an  inexperienced  doctor. 
It  was  as  much  as  /  could  do  to  save  her. 
Her  husband  may  thank  me  that  he  escaped 
a  halter.  The  way  I  treated  her  case  was 
this:  I—" 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,  Dr.  Ego," 
said  Mrs.  Elliot,  "  but  our  tea  is  ready,  and  some 
of  the  ladies  wish  to  go  home  early.  Will  you 
oblige  us  by  taking  a  seat  at  the  table  ? " 

Mrs.  Elliot  felt  sure  now  that  the  known 
voracity  of  the  doctor  would  effectually  silence 


The  Rei.>erend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        35 

his  tongue  for  a  season.  She  drew  a  long  sigh 
of  relief,  and  abandoned  herself  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  social  intercourse.  Her  husband  was 
absent,  attending  the  college  commencement 
of  Brown  University,  and  she  anticipated  the 
grave  looks  with  which  he  would  strive  to  hide 
his  relish  of  her  description  of  the  afternoon's 
warfare.  "  I  am  glad  he  was  not  here,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "With  his  exquisite  sense  of  what 
is  due  to  courtesy,  he  would  suffer  tortures 
rather  than  meet  Dr.  Ego  on  his  own  ground. 
4  Ah !  Mary,'  he  will  say  to  me,  '  how  could 
you  be  so  impolite  ?'  But  he  will  like  it  in  his 
heart,  I  am  sure.  There !  my  doctor  has  fin- 
ished his  supper  at  last.  He  has  kept  us  wait- 
ing only  ten  minutes.  See,  Mrs.  Grant,"  she 
said  as  that  lady  approached,  "  our  ogre  has 
picked  his  teeth  with  his  penknife,  and  sucked 
the  knife  as  usual,  a  sure  prelude  to  an  avalanche 
of  discourse.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"  As  Mr.  Elliot  is  absent,  why  don't  you  dis- 
miss the  society  from  the  table?  Let  the  girls 
attend  to  the  dishes  and  room,  and  you  and  I 
will  go  to  the  Lyceum." 

"  A  capital  plan,  Mrs.  Grant  ;  I  will  do  so." 
There  was  quite  a  bustle  attendant  upon  the 


36        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

breaking  up  of  the  party.  Some  were  searching 
lor  stray  shawls  and  overshoes,  and  some  just 
then  remembered  various  messages  to  different 
individuals  with  which  they  had  been  especially 
charged,  and  hurried  hither  and  thither  on  their 
various  errands,  in  every  stage  of  confusion. 

"  Look  at  poor  Mr.  Peyton,  Mrs.  Elliot,"  said 
Mrs.  Grant  as  they  left  the  vestry  together. 
"  He  is  an  old  man,  but  it  seems  that  age  is  no 
security." 

The  poor  old  man  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  look- 
ing longingly  in  the  direction  of  his  home,  but 
tightly  held  by  the  buttonhole,  and  listening 
perforce  to  one  of  Dr.  Ego's  wonderful  cures. 

"  Mr.  Peyton,"  said  Mrs.  Elliot,  "  are  you  go- 
ing directly  home  ?  I  want  to  send  a  message 
by  you  to  Louisa." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you,  ma'am." 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Peyton,  if  you  please," 
said  Dr.  Ego,  still  holding  him  tightly  ;  "  I  was 
saying  that  the  difference  between  a  chronic 
and—" 

"I  am  obliged  to  hurry,  Mr.  Peyton,"  said 
Mrs.  Elliot,  "  and  think,  on  the  whole,  that  I 
will  run  in  a  moment  and  see  Louisa  if  you  will 
go  with  me.  I  am  not  used  to  the  turnings 


The  Rmcrend  Didymus  Ego,  M.D.        37 

and  corners  of  your  street,  you  know.  Come, 
Dr.  Ego  will  be  willing  to  excuse  you  when  a 
lady  requires  your  services." 

So  saying  she  hurried  him  away,  leaving  Dr. 
Ego  standing  alone  on  the  sidewalk. 

"  I  wonder  whether  those  ladies  are  friendly 
to  me  or  not,"  he  mused  as  he  stood  watching 
them.  "  I  congratulated  myself  on  having  a 
fair  field  this  afternoon.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Elliot 
and  the  old  doctor  were  both  out  of  town,  and 
that  no  one  would  be  present  who  could  begin 
to  compete  with  me  in  conversational  powers. 
But  somehow  I  have  a  feeling  as  if  I  had  been 
overreached — as  if  I  had  been  outwitted.  What 
with  the  work,  and  the  music,  and  the  quarrel- 
ing of  those  two  ladies,  the  time  has  been  near- 
ly lost  to  me.  But  I  gave  the  old  doctor  a  hit, 
if  I  did  nothing  else.  There  were  some  present 
who  did  not  laugh  at  Mrs.  Grant's  impudent 
speech.  And  all  that  he  loses  I  gain." 

It  was  with  unfeigned  delight  that  the  Rev- 
erend Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.,  accepted  a  call  to 
act  with  the  other  professional  men  of  the 
village  as  a  visiting  school  committee.  It  is  a 
question  whether  the  people  "away  out  West" 
know  what  constitutes  the  duty  of  such  a  com- 


38         The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

mittee  in  many  of  our  New  England  towns. 
"  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise  ; " 
and  yet  the  writer  of  this  veracious  sketch  has 
a  great  desire  to  enlighten  the  world  on  this 
very  matter. 

In  the  first  place,  the  committee  are  expected 
to  overhaul  those  presuming  persons  who  imag- 
ine themselves  qualified  to  teach  school,  and  to 
lower  them  a  peg  or  two  in  their  own  estima- 
tion. For  this  purpose  they  are  taken  to  some 
by-place,  secure  from  interruption,  where  the 
chairman  of  the  committee,  acting  as  judge,  and 
the  rest  as  a  jury,  the  trial  commences.  Div- 
ing deep  into  various  books  unknown  to  either 
party,  there  are  questions  asked  and  answers 
elicited  that  astonish  the  whole  company.  For 
hours  this  intelligent  catechising  goes  on  till 
the  most  conscientious  of  the  committee  is  per- 
fectly satisfied,  and  also  till  the  most  learned 
of  the  young  aspirants  is  utterly  confounded. 
Yet,  in  credit  to  the  good  nature  of  both  judge 
anJ  jury,  it  must  be  conceded  that  when  the 
season  of  mystification  is  fairly  over,  they  are 
usually  ready  to  bestow  upon  each  of  the  would- 
be  pedagogues  the  paper  credentials  authorizing 
him  to  teach. 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        39 

The  teachers  being  disposed  of,  it  next  be- 
comes the  duty  of  the  committee  to  aggravate 
the  parents  of  the  district  scholars  to  the  great- 
est possible  extent,  by  forbidding  the  use  of  the 
text-books  that  were  introduced  during  the  last 
quarter  and  insisting  on  the  purchase  of  new 
ones.  The  first,  having  just  been  procured  at 
great  expense  and  inconvenience  by  many  of 
the  parents,  and  being  uninjured,  do  seem  to 
those  old  fogies  to  be  just  as  good  as  new.  For 
a  few  days  the  district  is  in  a  state  of  rebellion, 
but  the  committee  do  not  flinch.  The  teacher 
is  forbidden  to  use  any  book  save  those  now 
recommended  ;  and,  as  the  idea  of  rearing  their 
children  without  the  advantages  of  a  school 
education  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  the  innova- 
tion is  at  last  submitted  to,  other  necessary 
family  expenses  are  retrenched  in  order  to  buy 
the  new  books,  and  peace  is  restored  to  the  dis- 
trict till  the  beginning  of  the  next  term  renews 
the  grievance. 

All  these  duties  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  second 
nature  to  Dr.  Ego.  Viewed  in  a  medical  light, 
in  their  true  aspect  as  chronic  plagues,  the  com- 
mittee were  useful  as  counter-irritants  in  quiet- 
ing the  inflammatory  dispositions  and  obstinate 


4O        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

wills  of  the  district.  But  the  especial  glory  of 
the  doctor  was  in  visiting  the  schools,  and,  for 
a  dollar  a  visit,  confounding  the  pupils  and  dis- 
couraging the  teacher.  No  gentleman  of  the 
committee  was  so  faithful  in  this  respect  to  the 
interests  of  education. 

It  was  his  custom  at  every  visit  to  propound 
some  question  to  a  particular  class,  to  be  an- 
swered at  his  next  coming.  Sometimes  the 
whole  school  were  allowed  to  exercise  their  wits 
in  the  discovery  of  the  right  answer. 

On  one  occasion  he  promised  a  reward  to  a 
class  of  six  little  boys,  about  four  years  of  age, 
if  they  would  learn  from  their  parents  the  sig- 
nification of  M.  D. 

There  was  a  class  of  young  men  in  the  school 
who  occupied  a  corner  by  themselves,  and  whose 
studies  were  not  connected  with  the  rest.  One 
of  these,  a  droll,  waggish  fellow,  no  sooner  heard 
the  prize  offered  than  he  began  to  turn  over  in 
his  own  mind  a  plan  to  prevent  those  innocent 
children  from  becoming  the  doctor's  walking 
advertisements.  During  the  school  recess  he 
was  seen  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  playground, 
with  the  six  little  boys  grouped  around  him, 
each  with  his  hands  full  of  nuts  and  candy,  and 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        41 

with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  serious  face  of  the 
young  man. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  now,  Ned  ?"  asked  one 
of  his  class-mates,  approaching  them  curiously. 

"  I  ?  O,  I'm  treating  these  younkers.  You 
see  I  hav'n't  forgotten  the  days  when  I  loved 
the  goodies." 

"Those  days  were  quite  recent,  Ned,  if  we 
can  judge  by  the  usual  stuffed  condition  of  your 
pockets.  But  you  have  some  scheme  afoot 
now.  What  is  it?  Say,  Benny,  what  has  he 
been  telling  you  ?" 

Benny  did  not  speak,  but  drew  his  lips  to- 
gether as  if  afraid  he  should.  "  They  are  sworn 
to  secresy.  You  see,"  said  Ned,  gravely,  "  I 
am  helping  them  to  get  the  prize." 

" Indeed ! " 

"  Yes.  Look  here,  little  boys.  Attention  all ! 
Come  here  again  to-morrow,  and  we'll  go  over 
the  lesson  till  you  can  say  it.  But  mind,  now, 
don't  ask  your  parents.  I'll  be  a  father  to  every 
one  of  you  till  you  get  the  prize,  and  if  the 
doctor  backs  out  I'll  buy  you  something  hand- 
some." 

Each  day,  till  the  day  of  the  doctor's  regular 
visit,  was  Ned's  recess  devoted  to  treating  and 


42        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

helping  the  little  fellows  ;  but,  like  all  genuine 
merit,  his  had  the  grace  of  diffidence,  and  he 
exacted  from  each  of  his  little  proteges  a  promise 
to  conceal  his  agency  in  the  matter. 

"  Let  him  think  your  parents  helped  you,"  he 
said. 

"  I  don't  believe  my  mammy  would  know  if  I 
asked  her,"  said  one  bright  little  fellow. 

"Very  likely.  Our  fathers  and  mothers  went 
to  school  before  a  great  many  things  were  found 
out.  Now,  if  the  doctor  comes — " 

"  I  seed  him  go  into  school  just  now,"  inter- 
rupted Benny. 

"  Did  you  ?  Well,  then,  remember  that  when 
he  calls  your  class  and  puts  the  question,  you 
mustn't  wait  for  him  to  speak  to  each  of  you, 
but  Benny  must  speak  first,  then  Tom,  and  so 
on  through  the  class  without  waiting  a  minute. 
My!  wont  he  say  you're  the  smartest  boys  in 
school?" 

Cheered  by  their  young  teacher's  manifest 
delight  in  their  performance,  the  little  boys  hur- 
ried in  at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  impatient  to  dis- 
play their  knowledge.  An  opportunity  was  soon 
given  them,  for  only  two  classes  in  geography 
recited  before  Dr.  Ego  called  them  forward. 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.D.        43 

They  obeyed,  with  radiant  smiles  and  sparkling 
eyes,  stealing  sly  glances  of  anticipated  triumph 
at  Ned,  who  was  too  much  absorbed  in  a  diffi- 
cult problem  to  notice  them. 

"  Now,  my  fine  fellows,"  said  the  doctor,  smil- 
ing encouragingly,  "  I  judge  from  your  looks 
that  you  have  not  forgotten  to  learn  the  mean- 
ing of  the  abbreviation  I  gave  you." 

"No,  sir,"  eagerly  answered  Benny;  "we 
knows  them  all." 

"  You  all  know  it,  you  mean.  Well,  my  boy, 
you  can  answer  first,  and  then  the  next,  unless 
your  teacher  has  accustomed  you  to  answer  in 
concert.  How  is  it,  Mr.  Morton  ?" 

The  teacher  colored  and  hesitated.  "  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  me,  but  really,  sir,  .1  have  not 
once  thought  of  the  question  you  gave  them." 

A  frown  contracted  the  doctor's  forehead,  but 
a  glance  at  the  happy  expectant  little  faces  be- 
fore him  relieved  him.  "  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  in 
his  loftiest  manner,  "that  their  parents  were 
more  thoughtful  than  their  teacher.  Listen, 
children.  What  do  the  letters  M.  D.  signify?" 

"  Much  Dirt,"  said  Benny. 

"  Musical  Donkey,"  said  Tom  instantly. 

"  Mud  Diluted,"  "  Monkey  Dear,"  "  Mule  Doc- 


44        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D, 

tor,"  "  Mighty  Dromedary,"  repeated  the  rest  in 
quick  succession,  each  response  being  given  in 
a  louder  tone  than  its  predecessor.  It  would  be 
quite  useless  to  attempt  to  depict  the  doctor's 
looks  as  he  listened  to  the  ready  answers  of  the 
children.  The  teacher  and  the  older  pupils 
burst  into  hysterical  laughter.  Ned  had  dropped 
his  pencil,  and  was  searching  for  it  on  the  floor 
under  his  desk,  but  his  face  was  as  grave  as  the 
doctor's  when  he  arose.  The  children  who  were 
too  young  to  understand  the  cause  of  the  merri- 
ment joined  loudly  in  the  laughter,  and  the  six 
little  boys  who  had  acquitted  themselves  so 
handsomely  chuckled  outright  at  what  they 
took  for  the  spontaneous  applause  of  the  whole 
school. 

"  Silence  !"  commanded  the  doctor,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  At  a  loss  how  to  vent  his  angry 
embarrassment,  he  turned  to  the  teacher.  "  This 
is  a  pretty  proof  of  your  ability  to  teach,  sir. 
It  will  be  remembered." 

"  Believe  me,  sir,"  said  the  teacher  respect- 
fully, "  I  knew  nothing  of  this." 

"  A  likely  story.    It  will  be  remembered,  sir." 

Mr.  Morton  strove  hard  to  speak  with  his 
usual  seriousness  as  he  tried  to  justify  himself. 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        45 

"  It  was  really  as  unexpected  to  me  as  to  your- 
self. I  am  very  sorry." 

"You  look  sorry,"  said  the  exasperated  doc- 
tor as  he  saw  the  rebellious  smiles  still  playing 
about  the  teacher's  mouth.  "  It  will  be  remem- 
bered, sir." 

"  Please  to  question  the  little  boys.  You  will 
find  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  said  the  visitor, 
angrily  drawing  on  his  gloves  and  taking  his 
hat  to  leave. 

"  Benny,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  "  did  I  teach  you 
to  answer  the  doctor's  question  ? " 

"  No,  sir."    . 

"Who  did?" 

"  We  promised  not  to  tell,  because — " 

"Because  what?"  roared  the  doctor  as  the 
boy  hesitated.  "  Speak,  you  young  rascal." 

"  Because,"  said  Benny,  "he  was  afraid  you'd 
hire  him  for  a  teacher  if  you  found  out  how 
much  he  knew." 

Smothered  laughter  in  all  directions  now 
threatened  another  outbreak. 

"  You'll  get  no  prizes,"  said  the  doctor,  short- 
ly. He  held  up  six  little  paper-covered  picture 
books. 


46        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  little  Benny,  boldly,  "  he's 
got  some  for  us  bigger  than  them,  and  full  of 
pictures." 

"  Be  silent,  boy.  How  dare  you  answer  back  ? 
Mr.  Morton,  I  recommend  a  little  attention  to 
the  manners  of  your  pupils.  I  shall  leave  this 
school  to  be  visited  by  the  other  gentlemen  of 
the  committee.  If  the  children  make  less  prog- 
ress it  will  be  no  fault  of  mine.  Good  day." 

Hiding  his  annoyance  under  a  look  of  pomp- 
ous dignity,  he  bowed  himself  out,  only  regain- 
ing his  complacency  on  receiving  an  unusually 
low  and  respectful  bow  from  Ned,  who  opened 
the  door  for  him.  "  The  only  well-behaved  lad 
in  the  school,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  walked 
away. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  any  thing  like  order 
was  restored  to  the  school.  The  restrained 
mirth  burst  forth  before  the  visitor  was  fairly 
out  of  sight,  and  now  Ned  joined  in  it  heartily. 
The  sly  looks  of  his  companions  and  the  occa- 
sional glances  of  the  teacher  toward  his  desk 
showed  that  his  agency  in  the  matter  was  sus- 
pected, but  no  reproving  eyes  were  turned  upon 
him.  The  scene  had  been  too  thoroughly  en- 
joyed to  admit  of  censure. 


The  Reverend  Didymns  Ego,  M.  D.        47 

An  unusually  large  crowd  filled  the  Lyceum 
Hall  on  the  evening  appointed  for  Dr.  Ego's 
lecture.  There  may  have  been  various  reasons 
for  the  gathering  of  so  large  an  audience,  but 
from  the  whisperings  and  smothered  laughter 
that,  for  half  an  hour  previous  to  the  lecturer's 
appearance,  filled  the  apartment,  it  may  be  in- 
ferred that  a  love  of  fun  had  its  share  in  drawing 
the  people  together. 

A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  entire  assembly, 
however,  as  the  doctor  entered  by  a  side  door 
and  very  slowly  walked  to  the  speaker's  plat- 
form. Although  it  was  a  warm  evening  he 
wore  a  long,  loose  cloak,  which  added  much  to 
the  imposing  dignity  of  his  appearance.  With 
becoming  deliberation  he  sat  down,  and  for  ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  surveyed  the  audience  with 
the  indifferent  air  that  distinguishes  the  accus- 
tomed speaker. 

At  last  he  signified  to  the  president  his  readi- 
ness to  begin,  and  was  by  him  introduced  in 
due  form  to  his  hearers.  His  theme  was  "  Pro- 
gression." It  was  evident,  before  he  had  fin- 
ished his  introductory  remarks,  that  if  his  lecture 
were  not  the  crowning  effort  of  the  season  it 
was  not  because  of  any  paucity  in  the  English 


48        The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D. 

language.  Middle-aged  men  and  women  opened 
their  mouths  in  unfeigned  astonishment  as  un- 
intelligible adjectives  and  nouns  fell  upon  their 
ears,  and  a  young  man  who  was  studying  law 
left  the  hall  in  despair,  only  venturing  to  return 
after  securing  a  copy  of  Webster's  Unabridged. 

Mischievous  boys,  gathering  courage  from 
the  expressive  countenances  of  their  seniors, 
mimicked  his  pompous  manner  and  familiar 
smile,  and  cheered  with  enthusiasm  whenever 
an  unusually  heavy  word  was  uttered.  A  stran- 
ger would  have  supposed,  from  the  interest  they 
manifested,  that  the  entire  youth  of  the  village 
were  embryo  Ciceros. 

It  was  a  long  lecture,  lasting  nearly  two 
hours,  and  wearying  the  patjence  of  the  "  oldest 
inhabitant."  But  at  last,  when  the  most  long- 
suffering  persons  in  the  hall  were  contemplating 
the  propriety  of  "going  out  during  meeting," 
the  doctor  announced  the  peroration,  and  each 
one  settled  himself  hopefully  to  endure  the  final 
effort. 

"In  conclusion,"  remarked  the  orator,  "let 
me  refer  to  the  different  humanitarian  institu- 
tions of  the  day.  I  am  not  speaking  incogi- 
tantly  when  I  affirm  that  these  are  the  legitimate 


The  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D.        49 

fruits  of  Progression.  It  has  always  been  held 
as  an  inconcussible  argument  that  Progression 
includes  civilized  benevolence.  In  vain  may 
the  proud  opposer  strive  to  infuscate  the  sub- 
ject ;  it  gleams  in  defiance  of  his  efforts.  Look 
at  the  Bible  cause !  Is  there  one  in  this  audi- 
ence whose  heart  has  not  been  fringed  with  the 
plumes  of  this  fair  bird  of  paradise  ?  Behold 
the  tract  enterprise,  scattering  its  leaves  of 
truth  throughout  the  world  !  Like  a  molting 
angel,  it  flies  through  mid-heaven  shedding  its 
feathers  upon  the  nations.  Ah,  my  dear  hear- 
ers, it  is  such  Progression  that  levigates  the 
rough  edges  of  our  carnal  nature  and  trans- 
forms us  into  profound  mysteriarchs.  I  might 
mention  our  lunatic  asylums  ;  palatial  homes, 
where  the  intellect  may  recover  from  its  painful 
aberrations — homes  sacred  to  superior  minds 
alone.  To  such  a  home  does  your  speaker  often 
look  forward  with  painful  emotions,  with  natural 
dread.  Turn  we  irom  tne  thrilling  picture  to 
our  institutions  of  learning.  There  the  human 
mind,  after  long  wandering  in  the  mazes  of  igno- 
rance, is  at  last  redintegrated.  Years  ago,  a 
boy,  distinguished  even  then  for  precocious 
genius,  entered  the  classic  halls  of  a  distant 


5<3        Tlie  Reverend  Didymus  Ego,  M.  D, 

University.  I  was  about  to  give  you  a  practical 
illustration  of  the  benefits  of  education  even  in 
such  a  case,  but  you  might  consider  me  egotist- 
ical. Modesty  forbids  that  I  should  dwell  upon 
his  progress  in  ancient  and  modern  lore.  Of 
his  merits  as  a  profound  metaphysician  and 
orator  you  may  well  judge  for  yourselves,  for  he 
stands  before  you. 

"I  need  not  ask  that  this  subject  may  fall 
with  due  ponderosity  upon  every  heart.  Let 
the  weak  and  timid  take  courage.  Let  the 
strong  increase  in  strength.  Let  Progression 
be  our  watchword,  till  this  Lyceum,  the  germ  of 
whose  progress  has  been  so  anxiously  watched 
by  your  speaker,  shall  become  the  encyclopedia 
of  the  universe.'? 


MISS  PHILLISSA'S  LETTERS. 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 


MISS   PHILLISSA'S   LETTERS. 


MERTOWN,  June  10. 

'OU  were  right,  my  dear  Kate.     If  years 
of  patient    effort    and    compliance    with 
every  whim  of  my  brother's  are  powerless 
to  subdue   his  spirit   of  domination   and  con- 
tradiction, other  methods  must  be  tried  or  the 
man  will  be  unendurable. 

It  is  true  that  I  have  become  somewhat 
habituated  to  his  contrary  spirit,  and  if  the 
dear  girls  were  to  be  always  here  to  divide  the 
care  of  him  with'  me  I  should  find  it  easier  to 
submit  to  his  dictation  than  to  assert  my  rights  ; 
but  there  are  glimpses  of  a  matrimonial  future 
opening  before  each  of  them,  and  I  tremble 
when  1  think  of  being  left  alone  to  "  beard  the 
lion  in  his  den."  Another  reason  for  attempt- 
ing his  reform  is  that  my  disposition  is  losing 
its  natural  serenity,  as  any  temper  short  of  a 
glorified  saint's  must  do  here. 

His  irritable  temperament  is  acquired.     It  is 


Miss  Pkillissa's  Letters.  53 

not  constitutional.  From  whom  could  he  in- 
herit it  ?  Our  mother  was  an  angel  of  sweet- 
ness, and  our  father  was  a  kind-hearted,  agree- 
able man,  with  the  manners  of  the  old  polite 
school,  which,  if  a  little  ceremonious,  were  at 
least  provocative  only  of  good  feeling.  I  am 
a  branch  of  the  family  tree,  and  of  all  things 
in  this  world,  I  do  abominate  contention  and 
quarreling. 

My  brother  has  been  most  pleasantly  situated 
all  the  days  of  his  life.  Till  his  marriage  he 
was  never  suspected  of  possessing  those  arbi- 
trary, intolerant  traits,  and  to  his  wife  belongs 
the  credit  of  developing  them.  If  she  had  not 
been  the  weakest  of  all  women  I  could  find  it 
in  my  heart  to  reproach  her  even  in  her  grave. 
What  right  had  she  to  degrade  the  dignity  of  a 
wife  to  the  position  of  a  menial  ? 

All  day  long  she  made  it  her  chief  business 
to  find  out  his  likings  and  dislikings,  and  to 
humor  the  same.  Very  likely  she  lay  awake 
half  the  night  that  she  might  contrive  means 
of  giving  him  pleasure.  It  is  to  me  an  in- 
scrutable mystery  how  such  women  become, 
wedded  to  such  men.  Of  course,  it  did  not 
take  long  to  bring  out  the  selfish  helplessness 


54  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

of  his   nature  and   to  develop  the  full-fledged 
domestic  tyrant. 

I  remember  my  amazement  on  one  of  my 
visits  here  when,  on  going  down  stairs  one 
night  at  a  late  hour  to  fill  my  water-pitcher,  I 
found  him  reclining  in  an  easy-chair  reading 
a  newspaper,  smoking  a  big,  dirty  pipe,  and 
she,  poor,  tired  wife,  who  had  groveled  in  spirit 
before  him  all  day,  was  refreshing  herself  by 
washing  his  feet.  They  had  been  married  three 
years  then.  You  can  picture  for  yourself  her 
after  martyrdom. 

What  was  peculiarly  aggravating  in  the  case 
was  the  fact  that  neither  of  them  ever  doubted 
that  he  was  a  pattern  husband.  If  I  should 
go  down  to  his  room  this  morning  after  all  the 
past  and  say  to  him,  "  Clem,  you  were  a  heart- 
less tyrant  to  poor  little  Paulina,"  he  would 
think  I  had  lost  my  senses. 

As  the  children  came,  one  after  another,  to 
add  to  her  cares  and  labors,  it  never  occurred 
to  her  or  to  him  that  any  one  of  her  unreason- 
able attentions  to  him  could  be  dropped.  If  it 
had  she  would  never,  with  her  yielding  temper, 
have  been  able  to  emancipate  herself.  People 
used  to  think  it  strange  that  she  was  not 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  55 

oftener  seen  in  church,  and  that  she  never 
went  into  society,  and  my  brother  used  to  tell 
her  that  she  ought  to  go  out  more,  especially 
to  church,  for  the  sake  of  the  example ;  but  I 
spent  two  Sundays  at  their  house  when  Clar- 
ence and  Josiah  were  babies,  and  I  only  won- 
dered that  she  ever  went  out  at  all.  When  the 
scarlet  fever  took  the  twin  boys  away  she  was 
too  heartbroken  to  go  out,  and  then  Cora  was 
born  not  long  after. 

But  about  those  Sundays.  In  the  first  place, 
my  brother  is  very  particular  about  his  Sunday 
dinners,  and,  although  they  were  never  then, 
and  are  never  now,  cooked  to  suit  him,  he  eats 
as  reverently  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  the  religious 
observance  of  the  day.  Paulina  used  to  get  up 
very  early  in  order  to  superintend  the  prepara- 
tions for  this  devout  meal,  and  the  twins  used 
to  insist  on  early  rising  too.  The  breakfast 
must  be  personally  attended  to,  the  deluded 
woman  fancying  that  she  understood  his  tastes 
and  preferences  better  than  the  kitchen-girl. 
Perhaps  she  did,  but  I  suspect  that  they  were 
past  finding  out,  even  by  himself.  It  was  a 
late  breakfast,  because  the  'Squire  must  have 
his  morning  nap  on  Sunday,  the  day  being 


56  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

appointed  for  man  to  rest  in.  It  was  church 
time  when  the  meal  was  over,  and  then  she 
had  to  get  the  'Squire  ready. 

"  Here,  wife,  while  I  am  reading  a  chapter  in 
the  Bible  you  may  put  a  clean  collar  on  roe 
and  brush  my  hair.     Tie  the  cravat  loose.    You 
always  forget  that  unless  I  remind  you." 
"  Yes,  dear." 

"  And  take  these  slippers  up  stairs  and  bring 
my  boots.  But  first  fetch  my  pipe.  I  can 
smoke  while  I  am  reading." 

"  What  a  curious  way  to  'tend  prayer !  "  I 
said  involuntarily,  but  in  an  undertone  fortu- 
nately. Both  babies  beginning  to  cry,  my 
speech  was  unheard. 

"Paulina,  how  often  must  I  tell  you  that 
nothing  annoys  me  so  much  as  the  crying  of 
babies.  Can't  you  keep  them  still  ?  The  to- 
bacco, if  you  please." 

"  In  a  minute,  dear.  There  is  a  pin  pricking 
Clarence." 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  nearly  time  for 
the  bell  ? " 

"Yes,  love,  I  am  hurrying.  There,  baby 
darling,  let  mamma  go." 

"  My  overcoat  needs  brushing  ;  you  will  find 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  57 

it  in  the  hall.  And  one  of  the  buttons  is  near- 
*y  off.  You  can  just  fasten  it  with  a  stitch  if 
it  is  Sunday." 

Do  you  wonder  Paulina  died  ?  Even  upon 
her  death-bed  her  chief  care  seemed  to  be  to 
extract  a  promise  from  somebody  to  wait  upon 
him.  I  am  glad  I  was  not  here.  To  soothe 
her  I  should  have  promised  all  she  wished,  and 
so  have  bound  myself  over,  soul  and  body,  to 
slavery. 

Yet,  knowing  all  this,  I  have  tried  what  con- 
solation and  a  yielding  spirit  might  do  ;  but  I 
have  not  submitted  to  wash  and  dress  a  great, 
fat  man,  who  has  muscular  power  enough  to 
groom  forty  horses  daily.  Why  should  I  ? 

God  has  fashioned  me  slenderly,  delicately, 
but  not  weakly  enough  in  body  or  mind.  In- 
tellectually I  am  my  brother's  superior,  though 
he  is  ignorant  of  that  fact.  I  was  not  created 
just  to  minister  to  his  gratification,  to  humor 
his  whims,  but  to  render  to  him  all  true,  sister- 
ly, womanly  service. 

How  well  I  remember  the  morning  after  my 
arrival  here  !  My  parting  with  you,  dearest 
Kate,  seemed  like  cutting  myself  off  from  all 
that  was  enjoyable  in  life.  To  whom  should  I 


58  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

go  for  daily,  nay,  hourly  sympathy  in  all  my 
joys  or  sorrows !  I  scarcely  looked  out  of  the 
car  window  all  the  way,  but  gave  myself  up  to 
the  pleasure  of  making  myself  miserable.  After 
taking  so  much  pains  to  become  dissatisfied  I" 
rather  astonished  myself  by  having  a  good 
night's  sleep  and  awaking  in  the  best  of  spirits 
the  next  morning.  My  opinion  of  the  extent 
of  my  sacrifice  changed  considerably  as  I  opened 
my  window  and  looked  out  upon  one  of  the 
most  delightful  views  in  the  world.  You  know 
how  entirely  it  differs  from  our  tame  inland 
town.  I  thought  then,  and  I  have  learned 
since  that  I  was  not  mistaken,  that  one  could 
not  be  wholly  without  happiness  in  such  a 
country. 

I  had  forgotten  myself  and  my  anticipated 
troubles  when  I  was  roused  from  my  reverie  by 
a  voice  beneath  the  window. 

"  I  say  !  Don't  you  know  her,  Fred  ?  I  do. 
That  is,  I  know  her  name.  She  has  been  cran- 
ing her  long  neck  out  of  the  window  by  spells 
ever  since  sunrise.  She  belongs  down  east 
somewhere,  and  she  is  an  old  maid.  What 
she  finds  to  look  at  so  much  I  really  don't 
know." 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  59 

"  The  bay,  perhaps.  It  is  worth  looking  at. 
And  if  she  comes  from  any  inland  place,  Bob, 
the  shipping  off  the  harbor  must  be  a  novel 
sight.  I  like  people  who  take  notice  of  things." 

"  Then  you  will  like  her.  She  has  got  the 
bump  for  observing.  She  wouldn't  be  the 
'Squire's  sister  otherwise.  The  faculty  runs  in 
the  family,  I  expect." 

"  Well,  Bob,  I  fancy  she  will  not  prohibit 
your  visits  to  little  Miss  Maggie  till  the  child 
is  several  years  older.  So  you  need  not  hate 
her  in  advance." 

"  That  is  nonsense,  Fred.  But  I  do  wish 
the  old  maid  had  kept  away.  Her  name  is 
Phillissa.  Nigger  name,  anyhow." 

I  started  from  my  seat  by  the  window  and 
leaned  to  look  out  at  the  speakers.  They  were, 
as  I  learned  soon  afterward,  the  son  and  nephew 
of  a  near  neighbor  of  my  brother's.  Both  of 
them  were  great,  awkward  boys,  somewhere 
about  twenty  years  of  age.  In  a  city  they 
would  have  been  young  men  already  used  to 
society,  perhaps  tired  of  it ;  but  they  were 
country  boys  here. 

The  youngest  one,  Bob,  had  described  me 
very  well.  I  did  belong  down  east,  and  my 


6o  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

name  was  Phillissa.  I  was  an  old  maid,  and  I 
had  a  habit  of  "  craning  my  long  neck "  to 
observe  whatever  was  passing  around  me.  But 
I  thought  that  a  married  woman,  not  from 
down  east,  with  a  short  neck  and  a  pretty 
name,  might  be  well  excused  for  particularly 
noticing  the  prospect  before  me. 

The  beautiful  village  was  laid  out  in  the  form 
of  a  crescent  fronting  the  sea.  Behind  it  there 
were  hundreds  of  soft  green  hills  or  bluffs  ris- 
ing one  above  another  and  fairly  shutting  it  in 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  There  were  houses 
scattered  here  and  there  upon  the  tops  of  these 
lovely  eminences.  On  one  of  these  stood  my 
brother's  dwelling,  and  it  was  so  situated  as  to 
command  a  view  of  the  whole.  The  "  attic  of 
the  village,"  I  had  christened  it,  remembering 
Sidney  Smith's  quaint  cognomen  for  Edin- 
burgh :  "  The  Garret  of  the  World." 

I  laughed  outright  at  the  embarrassment  of 
my  youthful  critics  as  I  "  craned  my  long  neck" 
out  of  the  window  to  observe  them.  The  oldest 
blushed  like  a  girl,  and  the  youngest  stam- 
mered, by  way  of  apology,  "  I  thought  you  had 
gone  down- stairs  to  your  breakfast.  I  heard 
the  bell." 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  61 

"  Did  you  ?  Well,  /  didn't  hear  it.  Thank 
you  for  telling  me." 

I  was  about  to  close  the  window  when  the 
boy  spoke  again. 

"I  say!" 

"  Well." 

"  I  didn't  mean  any  thing  wrong  you  know." 

I  laughingly  accepted  the  implied  apology 
and  bade  him  good  morning.  That  was  six 
years  ago. 

Six  years  !  What  a  tiny  lapse  of  time  to  look 
back  upon  !  and  yet  six  years  to  come  seems  to 
stretch  far  into  the  future.  Six  years  since  my 
brother  sent  for  me  to  be  his  housekeeper  and 
help  him  educate  his  motherless  girls.  He.lp 
him,  indeed !  I  have  had  to  do  it  all. 

Bob  is  Lieutenant  Robert  Newleigh  now. 
He  has  been  in  the  army,  and  has  a  scar  on 
his  face  which  it  is  difficult  to  see  with  the 
naked  eye,  and  another  on  his  arm  which  looks 
to  me  like  the  place  where  he  was  vaccinated. 
As  I  write  I  hear  his  voice  in  lively  conversa- 
tion with  my  pet,  Maggie,  who  is  at  work  in  the 
parlor  below  me.  He  is  pretending  to  help  her, 
but  I  am  quite  sure  that  unless  Leonore,  my 
pattern  niece,  shall  be  inspired  by  their  united 


62  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

shiftlessness  to  take  the  brush  into  her  own 
hands,  the  carpet  will  remain  unswept  and  the 
furniture  undusted. 

Hark !  It  is  my  brother's  voice  calling  me. 
There  is  something  or  somebody  at  fault  when 
he  calls  like  that. 

"Yes,  I  am  coming,"  I  answer,  adding  as 
an  admonition  to  myself  to  avoid  unnecessary 
hurry,  "  I  shall  come  when  I  get  ready." 

I  laid  down  my  pen  rather  peevishly  at  the 
close  of  the  last  sentence.  But  my  brother  did 
not  detain  me  long. 

"  Phillissa,"  said  he  the  moment  I  appeared, 
"  I  want  to  know  who  makes  my  bed." 

"  One  of  the  girls,  I  don't  know  which.  Cora 
made  it  yesterday." 

"  Then  I  desire  you  to  instruct  my  daughters 
in  bed-making.  Just  look  at  this,"  throwing 
open  his  bedroom  door.  "  Here's  a  hollow,  and 
there's  a  hump,  and  nobody  knows  how  long 
there  has  been  a  slit  in  that  pillow-case.  It  is 
perfectly  scandalous.  There  are  five  women  in 
the  house,  and  such  a  bed  as  that!  I  never 
slept  a  wink  last  night." 

"  That  is  not  strange,  Clement.  Your  snor- 
ing disturbed  me  a  good  deal,  and  there  is  this 


Miss  Phillissa' s  LeUers.  63 

wide  corridor  between  our  rooms.  How  could 
you  expect  to  sleep  with  such  terrific  noises 
coming  out  of  your  own  head?" 

This  was  quite  a  new  style  of  reply  from  me, 
and  my  brother  dropped  his  spectacles  from  his 
forehead  to  his  nose  to  look  at  me. 

"Phillissa" — I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  his 
solemn  air  and  tone — "  Phillissa,  do  you  not 
know  that  the  chief  ornament  of  a  woman  is 
humility?" 

"  There  is  a  difference,"  I  said,  "  between 
humility  and  humiliation — humility,  that  sweet 
and  gracious  feeling,  the  twin  sister  of  peace, 
and  humiliation,  the  essence  of  undeserved 
shame,  and  wrong,  and  helplessness." 

Before  he  had  time  to  reply  I  backed  into 
my  room  and  shut  the  door.  I  should  like  to 
see  the  bed  that  he  would  not  find  fault  with. 
Every  woman  in  the  house  has  tried  in  vairi  to 
suit  him.  There  is  nothing  in  my  Bible  against 
his  making  it  himself. 

Cora  is  in  the  kitchen  learning  to  make  pud- 
dings and  pies.  She  is  my  oldest  niece,  and  is 
engaged  to  a  clergyman  who  has  not  yet  com- 
manded a  salary  sufficient  for  his  own  support. 
This  fact  puts  the  wedding-day  far  in  the  fu- 


64  Miss  Pliillissa's  Betters. 

ture,  but  as  "distance  lends  enchantment  to 
the  view,"  she  is  very  happy.  She  is  singing 
hymns  over  her  work.  What  a  sweet  voice 
it  is !  She  will  be  the  light  of  the  minister's 
dwelling — when  he  gets  her. 

Whew !  what  a  dust !  Bob  is  beating  the 
door-mats  against  the  piazza  pillars  in  spite 
of  Maggie's  laughing  remonstrances,  and  the 
wind  just  blows  the  dust  back  into  the  house. 
So,  remembering  the  "long  ago"  and  Bob's 
unflattering  comments,  I  proceed  to  "crane 
my  long  neck  out  of  the  window"  and  bear  a 
testimony. 

"Bob!" 

"  Ma'am." 

"Miss  Phillissa  is  here,  sir  —  the  Squire's 
sister — from  down  east.  She  is  an  old  maid, 
and  has  the  faculty  of  observing." 

Though  so  long  a  time  had  passed  since  he 
had  thus  described  me,  and  the  dear  boy  had 
served  three  years  in  the  army,  and  had  been 
in  I  don't  know  how  many  battles,  he  remem- 
bered it  all  instantly,  and  astonished  Maggie  by 
coloring  rosily  and  offering  the  old  apology,  "  I 
didn't  mean  any  thing  wrong,  Aunt  'Lissa." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.     But  what  has  become 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  65 

of  your  cousin,  Robert  ?  Do  you  get  no  tidings 
of  him?" 

"  Nothing  reliable  ;  only  contradictory  rumors 
which  are  got  up  no  one  knows  how,  and  are 
circulated  by  no  one  knows  whom.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  much  time  and  money  I  have  spent 
since  the  war  closed  in  chasing  these  shadows 
with  the  vain  hope  of  tracing  him." 

"  Papa  says  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  he 
died  at  Andersonville,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  think 
he  is  right.  The  wonder  is  that  any  body  lived 
to  get  out  of  that  horrid  pen.  Do  you  remem- 
ber, Bob,  when  we  read  of  the  black  hole  at 
Calcutta  and  I  fainted  away?  I  was  a  little 
girl  then,  but  I  should  faint  now  at  the  thought 
of  Andersonville,  only  the  idea  of  it  makes  me 
so  indignant  I  can't.  It  is  lucky  that  the 
abominable  rebels  have  not  got  to  be  sentenced 
by  me.  Nothing  short  of  the  positive  annihila- 
tion of  the  whole  set  would  relieve  me  in  the 
least.  Poor  Fred  !  he  must  have  been  tempted 
to  believe  there  was  no  God,  or  that  he  had  for- 
gotten them." 

Maggie  did  not  look  at  all  like  fainting  away 
as  she  spoke,  but  her  eyes  flashed  and  her 
cheek  crimsoned.  Robert  dropped  the  mats, 


66  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

and  began  to  walk  rapidly  up  and  down  the 
short  path  to  the  front  gate. 

"Aunt  'Lissa" — he  had  learned  to  call  me 
aunt  from  Maggie — "  I  would  give  every  thing  I 
possess  for  any  reliable  news  of  Fred.  I  went 
all  over  that  miserable  burying-place,  but  if  he 
sleeps  there  there  is  nothing  to  trace  him  by. 
Do  you  ever  see  Jack  Gushing  ? " 

"  I  do,"  said  Maggie.  "  He  is  first  mate  of 
the  Isabella  now.  Why,  Bob,  didn't  you  know 
that  when  he  was  at  home  the  year  you  went 
away  he  was  here  ever  so  often  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

Robert  looked  slightly  aggrieved  that  he 
should  have  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  any  of 
the  family  doings.  Maggie  noticed  it  and  con- 
tinued : 

"  He  was  here  last  evening.  Aunt  'Lissa  did 
not  see  him.  She  was  writing  in  ner  room. 
O,  he  is  a  splendid  fellow!  I  wish  you  could 
hear  him  describe  the  countries  he  has  visited. 
And  he  brought  me  the  prettiest  India  scarf!" 
added  the  little  coquette. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  Aunt  'Lissa,"  pursued 
Robert,  gravely,  "that  I  saw  Jack  Gushing,  and 
he  told  me  that  he  saw  in  New  York  last  week 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  67 

a  soldier  who  was  a  fellow-prisoner  of  Fred's. 
He  told  him  that  my  cousin  escaped  from 
Andersonville  nearly  two  months  before  he 
was  released,  but  in  so  weak  a  condition  that 
it  is  doubtful  whether  he  reached  any  place  of 
safety." 

"  He  may  be  living  yet,  Robert,"  I  answered, 
hopefully. 

"  I  have  been  so  often  disappointed  that  I 
dare  not  hope.  I  wish  I  could  find  that  soldier. 
Jack  did  not  ask  for  his  address." 

"  Are  you  going  away  again,  Bob  ? "  asked 
Maggie  in  a  low  voice.  She  was  already  re- 
penting of  her  attempt  to  excite  his  jealousy. 

"  Yes.     I  shall  try  to  follow  up  this  clew." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  away?" 

"  I  cannot  tell." 

"Bob!" 

"  Yes,  Maggie." 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

"  Yes  ;  what  is  it  ? " 

The  color  came  and  went  in  her  cheek,  and 
lie  was  obliged  to  repeat  his  question. 

"It  is  only  that  Jack  comes  here  to  see 
Leonore." 

Did  you  ever  know  an  old  maid  who  had  not 


68  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

a  lively  interest  in  the  love  affairs  of  their 
nieces  ?  I  am  no  exception  to  the  general 
rule. 

But  I  must  stop  writing  and  go  down  to 
superintend  the  dinner.  I  do  not  expect  to  suit 
the  'Squire,  but  I  begin  to  feel  hungry  myself. 
Let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  possible  or  I 
shall  be  tempted  to  reply  to  my  own  letter,  just 
to  open  the  way  for  another. 

Affectionately,  PHILLISSA  BROWN. 

MERTOWN,  June  28. 

I  consider  it  particularly  kind  of  you,  my  dear 
friend,  to  assure  me  that  my  letters  afford  you 
real  pleasure.  I  know  that  nothing  could  in- 
duce you  to  utter  an  untruth,  and  so  I  am  suit- 
ably encouraged  by  your  sympathy  in  my  per- 
plexities, and  your  approbation  of  my  feeble  at- 
tempts to  tame  the  'Squire. 

I  have  had  a  new  source  of  anxiety  lately. 
It  has  been  in  regard  to  the  evident  loves  of 
Margie  and  Robert.  His  political  opinions  dif- 
fer entirely  from  my  brother's,  and  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  state  and  defend  them.  There  has 
been  a  good  deal  of  warm  talk  on  both  sides. 

Do  not  understand  that  my  brother  is  decid- 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  69 

edly  opposed  to  the  Government,  but  that  he 
shows  a  wonderful  acuteness  in  picking  flaws  in 
its  administration.  Indeed,  he  seems  to  agree 
with  its  principles  as  well  as  with  any  thing,  and 
would  doubtless  defend  it  with  all  of  Robert's 
enthusiasm  if  the  young  fellow  was  on  the  side 
of  the  opposition. 

Maggie  has  seconded  my  efforts  to  keep  them 
apart,  and  whenever  Robert  comes  in  to  spend 
the  evening  she  surprises  him  by  remembering 
some  engagement  which  necessitates  a  long 
walk  and  his  attendance.  I  mention  his  name 
as  seldom  as  possible,  and  will  you  believe  that 
this  reticence  on  my  part  is  likely  to  help  on 
the  course  of  true  love  ?  It  is  even  so,  for  it 
has  put  into  my  wise  brother's  head  that  I  dis- 
like the  boy,  and  the  dear  man  has  spent  half 
his  leisure  for  a  week  in  recounting  for  my 
benefit  all  the  good  traits  that  Robert  ever 
exhibited. 

To  keep  him  in  this  state  of  mind,  I,  on  my 
part,  rack  my  memory  and  cross-question  the 
neighbors  to  gather  such  particulars  of  his  mis- 
chievous childhood,  and  the  short-comings  of  his 
youth  as  shall  enable  me  to  take  the  negative. 
Between  us  a  pretty  memoir  of  the  lad's  life  is 


70  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

got   up,  and  every  day  gives   birth  to  a  new 
edition,  improved  and  enlarged. 

Last  evening  I  was  in  danger  of  spoiling  it 
all  by  showing  the  amusement  I  could  not  help 
feeling.  To  avert  this  I  introduced  a  neighbor 
upon  the  scene,  not  bodily,  but  by  representa- 
tion. It  was  a  rainy  evening,  and,  what  is  un- 
common, only  our  family  were  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  every  thing  was  favorable  for  a  little 
neighborly  backbiting. 

Our  neighbor  is  a  good  woman  that  the 
'Squire  cordially  dislikes  in  spite  of  her  worth, 
and  really  I  don't  see  how  he  can  help  it.  It  is 
simply  owing  to  one  trait  of  character,  but  that 
one  trait  makes  up  the  woman.  It  is  what 
phrenologists  call  secretiveness.  Now,  we 
should  not  quarrel  with  this  trait  if  it  were  not 
forever  thrust  in  our  faces.  She  takes  the  ut- 
most pains  to  conceal  from  us  little  unimportant 
trifles  which  we  should  consider  it  a  decided 
bore  to  be  obliged  to  know,  such  as  the  cost  of 
her  Samuel's  trousers,  or  what  'Felix  went  to 
Boston  for,  or  how  much  her  husband  made  on 
that  last  trade. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  guard  that  she  sets 
around  these  absurd  matters  we  should  never 


P/iillissa's  Letters.  j\ 

bestow  a  thought  on  them  ;  but  one  cannot  see 
her  without  knowing  that  she  has  something  in 
charge  which  she  will  die  sooner  than  reveal. 

"  Mrs.  Lander  came  in  just  now  to  borrow 
some  milk,"  said  Leonore,  coming  in  from  the 
kitchen.  "  Their  cow  has  strayed  away,  and  it 
is  too  rainy  to  go  in  search  of  her." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  all  that  ? "  inquired  Cora. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  but  Ann  heard  Samuel  tell  his 
father." 

"  I  don't  like  people  who  are  so  private  about 
nothing,"  remarked  Maggie. 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Cora.  "  I  feel  all  in  a  trem- 
ble for  fear  that  I  shall  find  them  out." 

"  If  they  only  had  something  worth  finding  ; 
if,  for  instance,  the  family  had  done  something 
that  it  was  ashamed  of  it  would  seem  more  sen- 
sible. If  Felix  were  a  thief,  and  Samuel  a  mur- 
derer, and  the  old  man  had  burnt  somebody's 
house  down,  they  would  have  something  worth 
concealing.  Don't  you  think  so,  Aunt  'Lissa  ? " 

My  brother  laid  down  his  newspaper  to  hear 
my  reply. 

"  There  is  another  aspect,"  I  said,  "  in  which 
this  foolish  secrecy  presents  itself  to  my  mind. 
It  destroys  confidence.  You  cannot  feel  a  cor- 


72  Miss  PhUlissa's  Letters. 

dial  friendship  for  a  person  who  thinks  it  neces- 
sary to  keep  such  simple  affairs  from  your 
knowledge.  It  shows  a  want  of  trust  in  you." 

"  Every  body  has  a  right  to  keep  their  own 
secrets,  I  should  hope,"  remarked  the  'Squire. 

"Yes,  an  undoubted  right.  But  have  you 
never  noticed  that  in  keeping  their  secrets  they 
lose  their  friends  ?  Little  neighborly  inquiries 
in  regard  to  a  person's  health  and  prosperity 
come  up  as  naturally  to  our  lips  as  our  breath, 
and  when  we  get  snubbed  on  these  we  back  out 
of  the  field." 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  female  curiosity," 
said  my  brother,  beginning  to  warm  up. 

"  Men  being  destitute  of  .  that  quality,"  I  put 
in  as  a  parenthesis.  "  I  wonder  who  to-day 
declared  himself  willing  to  give  ten  dollars  to 
nnd  out  what  Dr.  Tingley  gave  for  his  horse." 

"  That  is  different.  The  doctor  don't  mean 
to  let  any  one  know,  and  — " 

"  Every  body  has  a  right  to  keep  their  own 
secrets.  That  is  your  doctrine,  remember." 

"  But  you  women  are  impatient  if  the  smallest 
affairs  are  hidden  from  your  prying." 

"Because  it  is  their  insignificance  which 
makes  the  grievance.  Little  things  force  them- 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  73 

selves  upon  our  notice  when  they  are  made 
important  enough  to  be  kept  from  our  knowl- 
edge. There  is  not  a  person  in  Mertown  who 
cares  to  know  any  thing  about  the  family  in 
question,  but  Mrs.  Lander  is  never  off  guard  for 
a  minute." 

"  Better  so,"  rejoined  my  brother,  "  better  so 
than  to  be  like  a  sieve  which  contains  nothing." 

"  Secrecy,  my  dear  girls,"  I  continued,  without 
replying  to  him,  "  secrecy  is  at  best  a  suspicious 
virtue.  A  pure  life  does  not  need  to  shun  ex- 
amination. It  requires  no  effort  to  trust  in  the 
open,  frank  nature  whose  utterances  seem  to 
spring  spontaneously  from  the  heart.  Frank- 
ness has  its  inconveniences,  and  there  are  many 
base  enough  to  abuse  it ;  but  it  has  the  merit  of 
honesty,  and  it  is  better  to  live  in  a  glass  house 
than  to  be  skulking  round  in  dark  corners,  like 
mice  in  a  pantry." 

"Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  said  the  'Squire, 
who  seemed  to  experience  immense  relief  as  he 
saw  his  way  clear  to  a  legitimate  subject  of 
fault-finding,  "that  reminds  me  of  the  mouse- 
trap in  the  store-room.  Nobody  takes  care  of 
it.  It  is  either  improperly  set  or  it  is  not  set 
at  all.  If  a  mouse  should  chance  to  get  caught 


74  Miss  Phillissa  s  Letters. 

— which  never  happens — it  might  dry  up  at  its 
leisure,  for  no  one  would  trouble  themselves  to 
take  it  out.  The  consequence  is  that  mice  have 
the  run  of  the  house.  What  other  vermin  we 
are  harboring  I  don't  pretend  to  know." 

I  was  embroidering  a  cover  for  his  easy  chair, 
and,  instead  of  replying,  began  to  count  the 
stitches  of  the  pattern  aloud. 

"  One,  two,  three,  yes,  three  of  purple,  six  of 
green  ;  and,  let  me  see,  this  brown  has  so  many 
shades  that  it  is  nearly  impossible  to  count  it 
correctly." 

"  Phillissa,"  cried  my  brother  in  a  voice  which 
reminded  me  of  his  own  youthful  declamations 
of  Cicero's  orations,  "  Phillissa,  will  you  attend 
to  that  trap  ? " 

"  I  don't  understand  it.  Yes,  nine  of  dark- 
brown,  and — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  attend  to  me." 

"  I  heard  what  you  said." 

•'  There  is  nothing  easier  than  to  set  a  mouse- 
trap. It  would  scarcely  occupy  five  minutes  in 
a  day." 

"  If  it  is  such  a  trifle  and  you  understand  it, 
you  had  better  take  the  charge  of  it.  You  have 
more  leisure  than  any  of  us." 


'Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  75 

"  Hem !  It  is  not  my  business,  I  hope,  to 
have  the  care  of  such  things." 

"  But  you  do  have  the  care,  it  seems,  and  the 
trifling  labor  will  be  a  small  addition.  I  am 
afraid  of  mice." 

Having  now  brought  him  to  a  theme  in  which 
he  delights — namely,  the  weakness  and  cow- 
ardice of  my  sex — I  withdrew  from  the  field, 
and  let  him  have  it  all  his  own  way  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  He  would  have  been  bet- 
ter pleased  with  a  little  contradiction,  because 
it  would  have  given  to  his  tirade  the  semblance 
of  arguing,  which  is  more  dignified  than  scold- 
ing ;  but  it  is  the  hardest  work  in  the  world  for 
me  to  contend.  I  suppose  it  would  be  more 
sinful  to  lie,  but  it  would  be  more  agreeable. 

It  is  nearly  midnight,  and  my  pen  begins  to 
lag,  so  I  will  bid  you  good-night,  and  wait  till 
to-morrow  evening  to  finish  my  letter. 

June  29. — This  has  been  a  lovely  day,  though 
a  little  too  warm  to  be  enjoyable.  One  could 
not  look  out  upon  the  fresh  green  of  the  mead- 
ows and  hills,  and  behold  the  blue  sky  serenely 
smiling  over  the  bluer  sea  without  adoring  the 
Infinite  Wisdom  which  "  hath  made  every  thing 
beautiful  in  his  time."  And  yet  I  came  very 


76  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

near  spoiling  the  whole  day  by  allowing  myself 
to  get  unduly  excited  over  a  trifle  of  as  little 
real  consequence  as  a  dry  leaf  floating  by  on 
the  wind.  Besides,  it  is  a  grievance  of  daily 
occurrence,  and  I  ought  to  be  accustomed  to  it. 
But  it  seemed  so  hard,  when  the  birds  were 
singing  and  the  day  shining  so  gloriously,  to 
listen  to  my  brother's  growling  comments  on 
his  breakfast,  and  to  behold  his  vigorous  appro- 
priation of  its  dainties. 

I  am  thankful  that  I  had  the  sense  to  attempt 
no  reply,  though  any  number  of  stinging  rejoin- 
ders were  quivering  on  the  end  of  my  tongue. 
When  he  tasted  the  fragrant  Mocha  and  de- 
clared that  water  was  infinitely  preferable  to  such 
slops,  I  only  answered  by  pouring  out  a  goblet 
of  cold  water  and  handing  it  to  him.  This  did 
not  prevent  his  drinking  four  large  cups  of  the 
coffee. 

Robert  was  here  all  the  afternoon.  He  leaves 
home  to-morrow  to  make  one  more  tour  in 
search  of  his  cousin.  He  has  waited  a  fortnight 
hoping  to  discover  Fred's  fellow- prisoner  ;  but, 
although  he  has  advertised  in  all  the  principal 
New  York  papers,  and  made  inquiries  by  letter, 
he  has  heard  nothing  from  him.  He  is  not  very 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  jj 

hopeful,  but  he  cannot  rest  while  any  means  are 
left  untried.  And  Jack  Gushing  has  gone  again. 
He  has  spent  so  short  a  time  here  that  I  have 
scarcely  seen  him.  He  has  changed  his  ship 
but  not  his  employers,  and  is  now  bound  for 
China.  Leonore  and  her  father  went  to  New- 
York  to  see  him  off.  He  will  be  gone  a  long 
time  ;  at  least,  two  years  seems  a  long  time  to 
look  forward  to,  and  when  he  comes  home  again 
there  will  be  a  wedding. 

As  I  think  over  the  changes  of  life  and  the 
possible  events  of  the  two  years  of  waiting,  I 
wonder  at  Leonore's  cheerful  words  and  man- 
ners. It  is  the  good  God  who  has  given  to 
youth  and  health  its  sanguine  hopes  and  rain- 
bow prospects,  and  I  will  not,  by  the  wisdom 
of  experience,  dim  one  color  in  the  bright 
camera. 

After  tea  Maggie  and  Robert  went  off  to- 
gether in  the  carriage  for  a  drive  on  the  Long 
Beach.  There  is  nothing  pleasanter  in  fine 
weather  when  the  tide  is  down,  and  the  long 
blue  waves,  crested  with  snowy  foam,  break  at 
a  safe  distance  upon  the  shore.  But  as  the 
evening  came  on  the  weather  changed.  The 
wind  blew  strongly  from  the  east,  and  the  li^rht 


78  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

fogs,  which  had  been  gathering  unnoticed, 
assumed  the  forms  of  clouds,  and  scudded 
hither  and  thither,  gradually  concentrating  their 
power.  I  became  nervously  anxious  for  their 
return  as  the  twilight  shadows  deepened.  I 
sat  a  long  time  by  the  open  window  listening 
to  the  heavy  thud  of  the  surf  upon  the  beach 
is  the  tide  came  in,  and  tormenting  myself 
with  conjectures  in  regard  to  their  absence.  I 
imagined  every  possible  evil,  and  some  that  my 
reason  told  me  were  quite  impossible.  It  is 
only  when  the  tide  is  down  to  a  certain  point 
that  the  further  end  of  the  beach  can  be 
crossed  in  safety ;  there  is  no  use  in  attempting 
a  passage  after  the  water  has  risen  over  the 
sand-bar.  I  think  my  brother  felt  considerable 
anxiety,  for  I  heard  him  go  several  times  to 
the  little  observatory  at  the  top  of  the  house, 
but  he  would  only  have  laughed  at  me  if  I  had 
gone  to  him  for  sympathy. 

They  came  at  last  when  it  was  quite  dark, 
and,  though  I  trembled  all  over  with  the  ex- 
citement I  had  undergone,  I  hurried  down 
stairs  to  question  them. 

My  brother  stood  in  the  doorway  talking 
to  Robert,  who,  as  well  as  Maggie,  was  drip- 


Miss  Philli'ssa  's  Letters.  79 

ping  wet.  Maggie  was  without  her  hat,  and 
her  hair,  which  is  long  and  thick,  had  become 
unfastened,  and  hung  over  her  shoulders  like  a 
vail. 

"  For  pity's  sake  !  what  has  happened  to  you  ? 
Maggie,  where's  your  bonnet  ?  " 

"Gone  to  sea,  I  expect.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened, Aunt  'Lissa.  Nothing  terrible  has  taken 
place." 

"  Robert,  go  straight  home  and  get  some  dry 
clothes.  Don't  wait  to  give  us  any  particulars. 
If  you  are  not  both  sick  after  this  then  I  am 
mistaken.  What  have  you  been  up  to  ? " 

"  I  shall  leave  Maggie  to  tell  you,  Aunt 
'Lissa,"  said  Robert.  "  I  shall  take  your  ad- 
vice. Good-night." 

"  But  not  till  she  has  changed  her  dress," 
said  her  father,  turning  to  Maggie. 

"It  is  salt  water,  papa.  It  wont  hurt  me.  I 
am  not  cold." 

"  Don't  stop  to  argue  about  it.  Do  as  I  wish 
without  controversy." 

"  Yes,  papa.  It  is  too  late  to  dress  again, 
and  I  am  tired,  so  I  will  go  to  bed,  if  you  please. 
Good-night,  papa." 

My  brother's  face  exhibited  a  ludicrous  con- 


8o  Miss  Phillissa  s  Letters. 

tention  between  parental  authority  and  baffled 
curiosity.  A  glance  from  the  window  showed 
him  that  Robert  was  quite  beyond  recall. 
There  was  never  a  son  of  Adam  with  a  more 
inquisitive  nature,  and  the  idea  of  waiting  till 
morning  for  the  particulars  of  Maggie's  adven- 
ture was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

"  Phillissa,  I  suppose  you  are  full  of  curi- 
osity— women  always  are — to  hear  what  these 
children  have  been  doing.  It  is  a  silly  trait, 
and  ought  to  be  checked  ;  but  if  Maggie  chooses 
to  slip  on  her  dressing-gown  and  come  down 
just  long  enough  to  gratify  you,  I — I  wont 
object." 

"  Not  on  my  account,  thank  you.  I  can 
stop  into  her  room  when  I  go  up  stairs  and  get 
the  details.  I  shall  be  going  up  directly." 

My  brother  arose  and  walked  uneasily  up 
and  down  the  room  till  I  lighted  my  candle. 
Then  he  spoke  with  his  back  toward  me. 

"  Phillissa,  I  think — hem — I  believe — in  fact, 
I  should  like  to  hear  about  the  affair  my- 
self 

"  Indeed !     Well,  there  is  nothing  easier." 

I  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called 
"  Maggie." 


Miss  Phillissa  's  Letters.  8 1 

"  Ma'am  ! " 

"  Your  father  wishes  you  to  come  down  and 
tell  him  about  your  adventure." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Maggie  came  directly,  followed  by  her  sisters, 
and  with  her  usual  boldness  seated  herself  upon 
her  father's  knees.  Neither  of  the  other  girls 
dare  do  that. 

"  We  were  crossing  the  beach  on  our  return," 
she  began,  "  and  were  about  half  a  mile  this 
side  of  that  narrow  part,  when  the  carriage 
suddenly  sank  in  a  soft  place  which  must  have 
been  got  up  for  the  occasion,  for  we  never  saw 
it  before.  It  is  higher  than  the  regular  track, 
but  the  tide  came  in  so  fast  that  I  did  not  like 
to  drive  nearer.  You  know  that  fence  by  the 
salt  meadows,  papa  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  it  was  close  by  that,  and  quite  safe, 
unless  the  waves  are  uncommon.  We  got  out 
of  the  carriage  and  Robert  pushed,  and  the 
horse  pulled,  and  I  helped  them  both,  but  we 
could  not  start  it  So  Robert  was  obliged  to 
leave  us  and  go  in  search  of  help.  The  nearest 
house  was  Quinny  Taylor's,  a  mile  off,  at  least. 
Robert  tied  Zoe  to  the  fence  and  mounted  me 


82  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

upon  a  post  near  by  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
waves.  Imagine  my  situation,  Aunt  'Lissa. 
Left  to  myself  in  the  middle  of  that  desolate 
beach,  the  great  waves  rushing  up  so  near  as 
almost  to  touch  my  feet,  the  wind  twitching  at 
every  part  of  my  dress,  and  pulling  my  hair 
out  straight,  and  the  darkness  coming  on  faster 
than  it  ever  did  before.  How  should  you  have 

liked  it  ? " 

"  Not  very  well,  I  think." 

"  Robert  had  got  but  a  little  way  past  that 
old  hulk  that  lies  on  the  beach,  though  he  was 
quite  out  of  hearing,  when  Zoe  began  to  kick 
and  plunge.  She  got  her  feet  entangled  in  the 
fence,  and  I  expected  every  minute  to  see  her 
fall  and  break  her  legs  or  her  neck.  I  tried  to 
coax  her,  but  she  would  not  let  me  come  near 
her.  Just  then  I  saw  Robert  returning  with  a 
man  who  happened  to  be  crossing  the  beach  on 
foot.  At  that  distance  they  scarcely  seemed  to 
move  at  all,  and  I  screamed  as  loud  as  I  could 
to  hurry  them,  but  the  noise  of  the  surf  drowned 
my  voice.  I  made  signals  of  distress  with  my 
handkerchief,  but  the  wind  took  it  out  of  my 
hands,  and  I  saw  it  no  more.  Then  I  took  off 
my  hat  and  swung  it  round  and  round  by 


Miss  Phillissa ' s  Letters.  83 

the  strings  till  they  were  near  enough  to 
see  it,  when  that  too  blew  away.  I  thought 
I  could  not  afford  to  lose  it,  so  I  got  off  -my 
post  and  began  to  chase  it.  You  should 
have  seen  my  hair  spread  itself  out  on  the 
breeze." 

"  I  can  fancy  how  it  looked  from  present 
appearances." 

"  But  the  hat  was  the  most  provoking.  It 
would  lie  as  still  as  possible  on  the  wet  sand 
till  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  then  it  would 
whirl  over  and  over,  as  if  it  had  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  keeping  just  out  of  my  reach.  I 
have  no  doubt  it  had,  but  I  guess  it  has  re- 
pented by  this  time.  I  was  glad  to  see  Robert 
trying  to  head  the  thing  off,  for  it  was  hope- 
less to  try  to  overtake  it.  But  we  had  each  in 
the  pursuit  unconsciously  approached  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  sea,  and  just  as  we  met  and 
both  stooped  to  seize  the  truant,  a  big  wave 
broke  directly  over  us  and  left  us  seated  flat 
upon  the  sand.  That  is  how  we  got  so  wet. 
The  retiring  wave  took  the  hat  out  to  sea. 
Robert  tied  his  handkerchief  over  my  head  as 
soon  as  we  got  out  of  the  reach  of  the  waves 
and  could  stop  laughing.  In  the  mean  time 


84  Miss  Phillissds  Letters. 

the  man  had  extricated  the  horse,  and  the 
carriage  being  once  more  brought  to  the  surface 
of  things,  we  got  in  and  struck  a  bee  line  for 
home." 

"  Quite  an  adventure,"  said  the  squire.  "  I 
suppose  you  enjoyed  it,  though." 

"  Well,  I  did  rather  like  it" 

I  have  written  all  this  since  the  rest  of  the 
household  retired  to  bed.  I  hope  the  account 
will  interest  you  as  much  as  it  does  me.  I  sup- 
pose the  young  folks  were  in  real  danger,  but 
my  heart  swells  with  gratitude  to  the  heavenly 
Providence  which  kept  them  in  safety.  It  rains 
heavily,  and  the  night  is  a  gloomy  one  to  be 
abroad.  There  is  such  a  melancholy  monotony 
in  the  sound  of  the  waves.  Good-night. 

In  love,  as  ever,  PHILLISSA  BROWN. 

MERTOWN,  July  12. 

DEAREST  KATE, — It  is  some  time  since 
Robert  went  away,  but  I  must  not  forget  to 
tell  you  about  his  leave-taking.  He  stopped  on 
his  way  to  the  station  to  bid  us  good-bye,  and 
promised  me,  with  his  eyes  on  Miss  Margaret, 
to  write  often.  She,  little  hypocrite,  tried  with 
all  her  might  to  look  unconcerned,  and  sue- 


Miss  Ptullissas  Letters.  85 

ceeded  so  well  that  I  was  quite  provoked  with 
her.  No  one  would  have  thought  her  at  all 
interested  in  his  departure  till  he  turned  to 
leave  the  house.  Then,  unable  to  keep  up  the 
deceit  a  moment  longer,  she  astonished  .us  all 
by  bursting  into  tears  and  running  away. 

Robert's  face  brightened.  Her  well-acted  in- 
difference had  been  any  thing  but  satisfactory 
to  him.  I  think  he  had  not  reached  the  street 
when  I  saw  the  blue  ribbons  of  her  new  hat 
fluttering  over  the  top  of  the  hill  back  of  our 
house.  There  was  a  little  grove  through  which 
he  must  pass  on  his  way  to  the  depot,  and  by 
crossing  the  field  beyond  the  hill  she  could 
easily  intercept  him. 

It  was  two  full  hours  before  she  returned, 
and  then  she  came  from  quite  another  direction, 
with  her  hands  full  of  mosses  and  wild  flowers. 
I  would  not  let  her  think  that  my  old  eyes 
could  be  so  easily  blinded. 

"  Well,  my  pet,  did  you  meet  Robert  ? " 

Her  face  flushed  crimson  in  a  moment,  mak- 
ing her  prettier  than  usual,  which,  in  my  opin- 
ion, is  quite  needless. 

"  O,  aunty !  did  you  see  me  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  did.    And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 


86  Miss  Phillissds  Letters. 

some  of  the  neighbors  were  looking  too.  What 
will  Mrs.  Lander  say  ?  I  believe  she  does  not 
object  to  a  knowledge  of  other  people's  affairs, 
though  she  keeps  her  own  under  lock  and 
key." 

"  I  don't  care  a  straw  what  she  thinks.  I 
wanted  to  see  Robert  particularly." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  I  should  say." 

"Aunt  'Lissa,  do  you  think  I  have  acted 
wrong  ? " 

"  No.  You  acted  naturally,  that  is  all.  Rob- 
ert thought  it  was  right,  I  dare  say." 

"  Yes,  he  was  glad  I  came.  He  said,  aunt, 
that  he  should  go  away  a  great  deal  happier 
because — because — " 

"  Ah,  do  not  try  to  tell  me,  Maggie.  It  is  all 
right  if  Robert  approves." 

"  But  you  mustn't  tell  papa  and  the  girls." 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  my  dear  child. 
None  of  us  have  been  blind." 

"Ah,  but  nothing  was  certain  till — till  this 
morning." 

"  No  ?  And  yet  I  could  have  predicted  it  all 
any  time  during  the  last  five  years." 

"  O,  Aunt  'Lissa !  Five  years  ago  I  was  only 
thirteen." 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  87 

"  But  Robert  was  twenty-two.  I  knew  he 
would  wait  for  you." 

"  It  was  a  long  time  to  wait,''  said  Maggie, 
thoughtfully.  "  Aunty,  wasn't  I  a  rather  mis- 
chievous child  ?  a  tease,  you  know  ? " 

"  You  were  very  much  what  you  are  now  in 
those  respects." 

The  conscious  shyness  of  Maggie's  manner 
was  something  new.  "  I  hope  I  shall  make  him 
happy,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do  so  like  to  plague 
him." 

As  she  went  slowly  through  the  hall  and  up 
the  stairs  to  her  room,  I  thought  there  was  little 
to  fear  from  a  spirit  of  teasing  that  was  too 
affectionate  to  suffer  any  one  to  remain  un- 
comfortable more  than  five  minutes  together. 
"  They  will  be  a  happy  couple,"  I  said  softly  to 
tiyself,  "  but  I  must  not  let  my  brother  know 
that  I  think  so." 

There  is  no  need  to  tell  you  now  that  the 
'Squire  is  "peculiar."  His  particular  oddities 
probably  seem  very  trivial  to  you,  but  they 
make  up  a  great  part  of  our  world  here.  It  is 
impossible  to  ignore  them  or  get  round  them  ; 
one  must  either  meet  them  boldly  or  yield  to 
them  passively. 


88  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

I  have  mentioned  his  love  of  controversy. 
There  is  scarcely  a  subject  on  which  he  thinks 
with  other  people,  and  he  adheres  to  his  views 
and  notions  as  stubbornly  as  a  mule.  With 
him  disputation  is  argument,  and  the  most 
trifling  events  and  subjects  are  caught  up  and 
turned  over,  and  split  to  pieces,  and  analyzed, 
till  one  is  tempted  to  wish  that  events  would 
never  occur  at  all,  or  subjects  of  converse  pre- 
sent themselves.  As  if  the  old  adversary  of 
peace-loving  Christians  had  a  particular  spite 
against  our  household,  there  are  in  convenient 
neighborhood  to  us  four  other  controversialists 
worse  than  the  'Squire,  and  scarcely  a  pleasant 
evening  passes  without  a  call  from  one  or  two 
of  them,  which  lengthens  into  a  visit  as  the 
evening  progresses,  and  becomes  a  visitation 
on  the  approach  of  midnight.  They  come  in  on 
purpose  to  argue  and  split  hairs  with  the  'Squire. 
Sometimes,  but  not  often,  we  have  them  alto- 
gether. Maggie  has  named  them  the  "  Quintet 
Quarreling  Club." 

Last  winter  I  tried  all  manner  of  expedients 
to  lessen  the  time  spent  in  these  windy  en- 
counters. The  wood  fire,  in  which  my  brother 
delights,  was  suffered  to  die  out  upon  the  hearth  ; 


Miss  Philhssas  Letters.  89 

I  put  somber  green  shades  over  the  lamp  and 
made  the  room  look  like  a  tolerably  cheerful 
sepulcher,  and  suffered  all  sorts  of  personal  dis- 
comfort in  the  vain  hope  of  making  the  visitors 
uncomfortable.  They  seemed  to  enjoy  being 
dismal,  and  stayed  later  than  ever.  There  was 
a  dishonesty  in  their  actions  which  was  very 
trying,  to  say  the  least.  They  would  get  up 
and  put  on  their  hats  and  overcoats,  as  if  they 
were  going  directly,  and  then,  right  in  the  face 
of  this  implied  promise  to  take  themselves  off, 
they  would  talk  an  extra  hour  with  their  hands 
upon  the  door-knob,  or  with  the  door  itself 
slightly  ajar,  and  the  chill  air  of  the  long  hall 
drawing  through  the  crevice. 

By  way  of  a  gentle  reminder,  I  would  ask  if 
our  clock  agreed  with  the  visitor's  watch,  or  at 
what  hour  the  moon  rose,  or  when  it  would  be 
full  tide,  and  sometimes  inquire  with  real  inter- 
est if  the  wives  of  these  gentlemen  sat  up  till 
their  return.  It  was  all  of  no  use  ;  it  made  not 
the  slightest  difference ;  the  discussion  would 
go  on  and  on,  the  voices  wax  louder  and  higher, 
and,  by  midnight,  a  stranger  passing  by  would 
suppose  that  a  full-sized  theological  abscess  had 
come  to  a  head  and  burst  ;  for  it  was  always 


go  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

upon  devotional  and  doctrinal  points  that  the 
debates  were  hottest. 

The  girls  invariably  gathered  up  their  work 
and  left  the  room  as  soon  as  they  could  do  so 
unobserved.  You  will  ask  why  I  did  not  follow 
their  example.  I  did  so  when  I  first  came  to 
live  here,  and  twice  the  house  was  set  on  fire 
through  my  brother's  carelessness.  I  am  afraid 
of  fire.  It  terrifies  me  to  think  of  being  burned 
out  at  night,  and  at  home,  where  every  body 
was  so  careful,  I  was  always  smelling  some- 
thing burning,  and  prowling  about  the  house 
to  find  it.  So  I  always  sit  up  here  to  put  out 
the  lights  and  fasten  the  doors  of  the  house 
myself. 

In  the  summer  it  is  a  little  better.  I  sit  in 
my  room  during  the  debates,  and  when  the 
house  is  still  go  down  to  make  sure  that  no 
stray  candles  are  left  burning  near  the  muslin 
curtains  of  the  sitting-room  or  among  the  pine 
shavings  in  the  wood-house.  But  I  have  al- 
ready begun  to  dread  next  winter.  It  is  months 
ahead,  I  may  not  live  to  see  it,  the  'Squire  or 
his  neighbors  may  be  past  disputing,  there  may 
be  a  revival  of  religion,  indeed,  there  are  many 
possibilities  in  my  favor,  but  the  probability  is 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  91 

* 

a  bugbear  that  shadows  every  thing.  I  foresee 
the  evil,  but  I  see  no  way  to  hide  myself. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  girls  ? "  I  ask  for  the  fifti- 
eth time,  I  dare  say. 

"  Do  ? "  says  Cora.     "  Why,  do  as  we  do." 

"  But  I  can't,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  would,"  says  Maggie.  "  Clear  out 
and  let  them  go  it.  We  have  grand  times  in 
the  kitchen." 

"What  would  your  father  say?" 

"  He  wouldn't  care,"  says  Leonore.  "  Do  you 
suppose  he  ever  thinks  where  we  are  after  the 
quarrel  has  fairly  set  in  ? " 

"  Discussion,  my  dear,"  I  correct  her.  "  They 
do  not  really  quarrel." 

"  It's  the  same  thing,"  said  Cora,  and  she  evi- 
dently thought  so. 

"  I  wish  your  father  would  permit  you  to  have 
a  fire  by  yourselves.  The  kitchen  is  hardly 
a  proper  place  for  you.  Besides,  it  is  rather 
crowding  Ann.  She  has  her  own  company 
sometimes,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  we  have  got  acquainted  with  all 
her  Irish  aunts  and  cousins,  and  they  don't 
mind  our  being  present.  I  expect,"  says  Maggie 
demurely,  "  that  they  all  know  how  we  are  situ- 


92  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

« 

ated.  Now,  Aunt  'Lissa,  dear,  don't  look  so 
horrified  !  I  am  sure  I  am  sorry  for  you,  tor  I 
suppose  papa  would  make  a  fuss  if  you  should 
do  as  we  do  and  leave  him  quite  to  himself. 
But  I  am  surprised  that  you  don't  invite  com- 
pany of  your  own  to  spend  the  evenings.  There 
is  the  Widow  Lawton  and  her  Sister  Phoebe, 
and  Angelina  Cross  and  the  Widow  Peyton." 

If  you  had  been  here,  dear  Kate,  you  would 
not  have  understood  the  chorus  of  laughter 
that  followed  Maggie's  speech.  She  went  on  as 
soberly  as  if  we  were  all  crying,  "  Now,  blessed 
be  the  power  which  gave  to  man  his  share  of 
follies !  Don't  you  see  the  way  clear  before 
you  ?  You  need  society.  We  young  madcaps 
are  of  no  account — " 

"  My  pet !"  I  remonstrated. 

"  Yes,  you  need  society.  There  is  plenty  of 
it  close  at  hand.  Good  society,  too.  Intellect- 
ual ;  just  your  sort.  Why  shouldn't  you  have 
it  ?  I  am  sure  papa  would  not  hinder  you." 

I  did  not  answer,  but  I  went  up  to  my  room 
to  think  it  over.  I  have  never  told  you  that 
the  'Squire  has  a  nervous  fear  of  all  single 
women,  especially  widows.  He  seems  to  labor 
under  the  impression  that  they  all  wish  to  ap- 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  93 

propriate  him  matrimonially,  and  that  they  will 
somehow  contrive  to  do  it  without  his  knowl- 
edge or  consent.  I  suppose  he  never  meets  a 
single  woman,  even  in  church,  without  a  feeling 
of  insecurity,  and  any  polite  or  neighborly  in- 
quiry on  their  part,  a  chance  meeting  in  the 
street,  or  a  smile  of  recognition,  are  each  di- 
rectly construed  into  courtship  of  himself,  and 
rank  in  his  mind  with  other  crimes,  such  as 
assault  and  battery. 

But  I  will  leave  this  subject  and  tell  you  of 
something  that  happened  yesterday.  After  din- 
ner I  went  to  call  on  a  sick  neighbor,  Mr.  Haze. 
He  had  been  ill  a  fortnight,  but  not  seriously, 
and  we  supposed  he  was  recovering  till  his  wife 
sent  for  me  this  morning.  I  found  him  danger- 
ously sick,  but  wholly  unaware  of  his  danger. 

For  many  years  he  has  been  a  warm  de- 
fender of,  and  apparently  earnest  believer  in, 
the  doctrine  of  universal  salvation,  and  some 
of  my  brother's  stoutest  arguments  have  been 
addressed  to  him.  His  theory  is  one  which  is 
very  easily  upset,  and  I  have  been  often  sur- 
prised to  see  him  cling  to  it  with  an  easy,  satis- 
fied way  after  its  frail  props  have  been  knocked 
aside. 


94  Miss  Phillissds  Letters. 

The  doctor  was  with  him  when  I  arrived,  and 
he  came  into  the  hall  to  meet  me  with  so  grave 
a  face  that  I  was  alarmed  at  once.  He  is  not 
our  family  physician,  for  among  my  brother's 
disbeliefs  is  an  utter  distrust  of  all  doctors  ; 
but  I  had  met  him  several  times  in  the  house 
of  a  sick  neighbor,  and  I  knew  him  to  be  held 
in  great  esteem  in  all  the  region,  and  to  be  as 
eminent  for  piety  as  for  skill  in  medicine.  So 
when  he  came  forward  and  shook  hands,  with 
that  sad  look  of  anxiety  on  his  face,  I  knew 
how  to  interpret  it. 

"  So  you  think  he  is  very  ill,"  I  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  He  is,  indeed,  Miss  Phillissa.  I  am  very 
glad  to  meet  you  here.  I  have  a  very  painful 
commission  to  intrust  to  you.  I  have  tried  to 
execute  it  myself,  but  he  is  too  stupid  now  to 
realize  what  I  say.  But  he  will  rally  from  this 
dozing  state,  and  then  you  must  tell  him  ;  make 
him  understand  if  you  can  that  a  few  hours  of 
life  is  all  that  he  can  look  forward  to.  Do  not  be 
afraid  to  arouse  him  or  to  speak  plainly.  No," 
said  the  doctor,  answering  my  looks,  "there  is 
no  hope  for  him — none." 

"  Let  his  wife  speak  to  him,  doctor.  I  cannot." 


Miss  Pkillissas  Letters.  95 

"  She  will  not.  I  have  been  urging  her  to  do 
so.  '  If  he  must  die/  she  says,  '  let  him  die  in 
peace.'  But  to  me  there  is  something  very  aw- 
ful in  the  idea  of  appearing  so  suddenly  in  the 
presence  of  our  Judge  without  one  moment 
given  to  serious  preparation.  If  Mr.  Haze  has 
a  short  interval  of  reason  and  ease  from  bodily 
pain,  as  I  think  he  will,  who  shall  dare  to  wrest 
from  him  the  precious  privilege  of  sincerely 
offering  the  prayer  of  the  publican,  '  God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner  ! "  , 

"I  have  little  faith,"  I  said,  "in  death-bed 
conversions." 

"  And  yet,  Miss  Phillissa,  God  accepts  those 
who  come  at  the  eleventh  hour." 

"  Have  you  conversed  with  him  ?" 

"  I  have  attempted  to  do  so,  but  I  did  not 
succeed  in  making  him  realize  the  truth.  Till 
this  morning  I  had  a  strong  hope  that  he  would 
recover,  and  it  was  important  not  to  agitate 
him.  But  ihere  is  no  chance  for  him  now. 
You  will  tell  him  so,  Miss  Phillissa?" 

"  I  will  try." 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  was  gone  I  went  into 
the  sick-room,  hoping  to  persuade  poor  Mrs. 
Haze  to  allow  me  to  take  her  place,  but  I  could 


c/3  Miss  PJiillissas  Letters. 

not  persuade  her  to  leave  him  for  a  moment. 
Poor  woman  !  she  had  stood  by  him  or  sat  on 
the  bedside  for  three  days  and  nights,  and  was 
so  exhausted  that  she  dozed  even  as  she  bent 
over  his  pillow ;  but  no  entreaties  could  induce 
her  to  leave  her  trust  in  my  hands  long  enough 
to  seek  the  repose  she  needed  so  much. 

I  drew  an  easy  chair  close  to  the  bedside. 
"  See,"  I  said,  "  you  can  do  nothing  for  him 
now.  Let  me  place  you  so  that  you  can  lean 
back  on  these  pillows.  You  can  still  hold  his 
hand.  It  will  not  be  leaving  him." 

"  There  is  so  little  time  to  see  him  now,"  she 
urged  piteously. 

"  I  know.  But  if  you  sleep  while  he  is  dozing 
you  will  be  able  to  speak  to  him  when  he 
awakes.  He  may  have  some  wish  to  express, 
and  you  are  too  worn  out  to  listen.  There, 
shut  your  eyes  ;  it  will  rest  them.  I  will  speak 
to  you  if  he  stirs." 

She  yielded  at  last,  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep 
which  lasted  an  hour.  Was  it  wrong  in  me  as 
I  watched  them  both  if  I  wished  that  the  spirit 
so  near  to  its  last  journey  might  quietly  depart 
without  again  awaking  to  human  life  ?  But  a 
higher  wisdom  than  mine  determines  the  issues 


Miss  Phillissa' s  Letters.  97 

of  life  and  death,  and  in  a  little  time  he  began 
to  stir  uneasily,  gradually  shaking  off  the  stu- 
por of  sleep  and  opening  his  eyes  oftener  till  he 
was  quite  awake  and  recognized  me. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come,  Miss  Phillissa." 

"  How  do  you  feel  ? " 

"  I  am  better." 

'•  You  have  been  very  sick,  the  doctor  says." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  have.  Barbara,  give  me 
some  water — some  ice-water." 

His  wife  brought  the  water,  but  he  only  tasted 
it.  He  seemed  to  be  uneasy,  and  looked  from 
her  to  me,  and  then  around  the  room,  as  if  try- 
ing to  remember  something. 

"  What  was  it  the  doctor  said,  Barbara  ?  Was 
I  dreaming  ?  or  did  he  really  say  that  I  must 
die  ?  Barbara,  what  did  he  say  ? " 

She  drew  back  from  the  bed  without  reply- 
ing, and  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  me.  "  What 
did  he  say,  Miss  Phillissa  ?  I  feel  better.  Does 
the  doctor  think  there  is  any  danger  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  answered  slowly,  for  it  seemed  to 
me  like  reading  his  death-warrant  "  The  doc- 
tor thinks  you  cannot  recover.  He  expected 
this  easy  interval,  but  it  is  not  a  change  in  your 
favor." 


98  Miss  PJiillissas  Letters. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  asked, 
"  How  soon  ? " 

"  You  have  a  few  hours  only." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  agony  that 
passed  over  his  face. 

"  A  few  hours  ? "  he  repeated.  "  Can  this  be 
true  ?  Only  a  few  hours  to  prepare  for  an  eter- 
nity that  will  be  endless  ?  I  cannot  do  it.  I 
need  a  life-time.  My  head  is  too  weak  to 
think  now.  O,  Miss  Phillissa,  what  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Seek  for  God's  mercy,"  I  answered.  "  It  is 
never  too  late  to  appeal  to  that." 

"  It  is  too  late  for  me.  I  have  wasted  all 
these  years ;  a  life-time  of  precious  moments 
like  these  that  are  slipping  by.  I  can  do  noth- 
ing now." 

"  Yet  Jesus  will  receive  you  if  you  come  to 
him  in  penitence." 

"  I  cannot.  I  am  groping  in  darkness.  There 
is  no  way  out  of  it." 

"  Jesus  is  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life.  He 
will  help  you.  He  can  change  your  heart  and 
fit  you  for  his  kingdom.  Think  of  the  penitent 
thief,  saved  in  death's  extremity." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  talk  to  me  of  change  now. 


Miss  Pkillissa's  Letters.  99 

But  what  have  I  done,  after  all,  that  I- need  to 
be  afraid  ?  It  is  because  I  am  so  weak.  What 
wickedness  have  I  committed  ?  " 

"  None,  my  own  husband,"  said  his  wife  earn- 
estly. "Take  comfort.  You  have  done  no 
wrong." 

"  There  is  no  crime  of  which  men  can  accuse 
me,"  he  continued  eagerly.  "  I  have  been  as 
upright  in  all  my  dealings  as  any  man  in  the 
town.  Haven't  I  helped  the  poor  and  been  a 
good  citizen,  a  kind  husband  and  father  ? 
Surely  God  does  not  require  impossibilities. 
He  will  accept  me." 

But  even  while  trying  thus  to  quiet  his  awak- 
ening conscience  a  strong  dread  seized  upon 
him,  and  he  finished  his  laudation  of  self  by 
groaning  out,  "  I  am  afraid  to  die.  I  am  not 
ready.  Send  for  the  doctor.  If  he  could  but 
prolong  my  life  for  a  day  and  give  me  time ! 
Send  for  him,  Barbara.  Tell  him  I  can't  die  yet. 
How  could  I  let  the  whole  of  life  slip  by  with- 
out getting  ready  to  die !  It  is  too  late  now, 
Barbara,  be  warned  by  me.  Attend  to  your 
eternal  interests  at  once.  There  is  time  for 
you,  but  I  am  lost  forever." 

Again  he  strove  to  recall  his  good  deeds,  and 


IOO  Miss  Phillissa's  Letters. 

offer  them  as  a  reason  for  claiming  God's  mercy 
in  his  behalf. 

"I  am  surely  better  than  most  men,"  he 
pleaded.  "And  God  is  just.  Ah,  that  is  a  ter- 
rible thought.  If  he  were  only  merciful  I  might 
hope,  but  who  can  stand  before  his  justice  ? " 

In  vain  I  strove  to  lead  his  thoughts  to  the 
compassionate  Saviour  of  sinners.  He  could 
only  think  of  him  as  the  unerring  Judge  of  the 
wicked.  He  was  not  still  a  moment,  and  as  his 
strength  gradually  declined  and  he  ceased  to 
speak,  his  wistful,  imploring  looks  were  terrible 
to  see. 

I  stayed  with  poor  Mrs.  Haze  till  it  was  all 
over.  She  is  stunned  by  her  trouble  now,  and 
goes  about  the  house  like  one  walking  in  a 
dream.  She  does  not  yet  think  of  her  own 
widowhood.  One  horrible  thought  possesses 
her — that  her  husband  is  not  saved. 

"  We  must  leave  him  with  God,"  I  said  to 
her.  "  We  know  he  will  do  right." 

"Ah,  that  does  not  comfort  me  if  my  hus- 
band is  lost." 

I  could  not  administer  consolation.  I  could 
only  weep  with  her  and  pray  for  her.  And  this, 
I  reflected,  is  all  that  Universalism  does  for  its 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  101 

disciples  in  the  hour  of  their  extremity.  In 
health  our  friend  had  rested  contentedly  upon  its 
pleasing  lying  doctrines  ;  but  he  did  not  once 
mention  them  when  he  was  face  to  face  with 
death.  To  his  sharpened  spiritual  senses  they 
showed  in  their  false  colors,  and  were  thrown 
aside  as  useless. 

My  brother  was  greatly  agitated  when  I  told 
him  that  Mr.  Haze  was  dead.  It  was  only  the 
other  night  that  he  was  here,  and  sat  with  him 
on  the  piazza  till  a  late  hour  discussing  some 
theological  question.  O  those  empty,  bitter 
disputations!  Could  my  brother  remember 
them  without  thinking  how  much  better  it  would 
have  been  to  have  shown  the  sweet  spirit  of 
charity,  the  loving  meekness  and  humility  of  a 
true  disciple  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

Our  whole  circle  is  mournfully  affected  by 
this  sudden  death,  and  Maggie  went  shivering 
from  the  table  when  I  described  that  sad  death- 
bed. Cora  and  Leonore  are  both,  as  I  trust, 
Christians  ;  but  Maggie  has  learned  from  her 
father  to  cavil  at  truth  however  it  is  presented, 
and  to  doubt  all  professions  of  goodness.  Yet 
there  are  times  when  I  think  she  is  not  far  from 
the  kingdom  of  God. 


IO2  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

"  1  would  not  marry  Robert  if  he  were  not  a 
Christian,  Aunt  'Lissa,"  she  said  this  morning. 
"  I  should  lose  my  senses  if  he  were  to  die  like 
Mr.  Haze." 

"What  if  he  should  make  the  same  resolu- 
tion in  regard  to  choosing  a  wife  ?  What  then, 
my  pet  ? " 

"  He  would  show  his  wisdom,  I  think." 

But  I  noticed  the  slight  trembling  in  her 
voice  as  she  answered  thus  lightly. 

My  sheet  is  full  and  I  must  close.  Let  me 
get  a  letter  from  you  next  week.  It  seems  a 
great  while  since  I  heard  from  you. 

Affectionately,  PHILLISSA  BROWN. 

MERTOWN,  October  23. 

It  is  true,  dearest  Kate,  that  you  have  some 
reason  to  complain  of  me.  It  has  been  no  want 
of  time,  or  even  inclination,  that  has  kept  me 
silent ;  but  just  the  uncertainty  of  Robert 
Newland's  movements,  and  the  hope  of  soon 
being  able  to  write  you  some  news  of  Fred. 

It  will  be  scarcely  possible  now  for  me  to 
obey  your  injunction  and  begin  this  letter  just 
where  the  last  one  left  off,  but  I  can  'give  you  a 
general  idea  of  what  we  have  been  doing. 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  103 

There  has  been  a  change  observable  in  the 
'Squire  since  poor  Mr.  Haze  died.  Not  a  last- 
ing, radical  change,  but  a  change  that  comes 
and  goes  by  fits  and  starts,  and  shows  the  old 
nature  unchanged  after  all.  The  evening  con- 
troversies at  our  house  are  not  given  up,  but 
they  are  cooler,  and  the  combatants  keep  better 
hours.  The  theme  of  universal  salvation  is 
wholly  let  alone.  I  truly  regret  the  poor  man's 
death,  but  if  he  must  die  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong 
to  rejoice  that  one  bone  of  contention  is  buried 
with  him. 

But  there  are  many  other  bones  for  which  I 
should  be  glad  to  find  a  sepulcher — one  very  old 
bone,  of  which  I  have  just  had  a  glimpse.  Shall 
I  show  it  to  you  ? 

At  the  tea-table  my  brother  undertook  to 
convince  me  that  hot  buttered  toast,  of  which 
he  is  extravagantly  fond,  ought  never  to  be 
eaten. 

"  An  indigestible  mess,  full  of  nightmare  and 
incipient  dyspepsia,  only  fit  for  the  gizzard  of 
an  ostrich,"  was  his  flattering  comment  on  its 
appearance.  I  knew  that  he  said  this  from 
sheer  love  of  fault-finding,  and  that  he  would 
directly  help  himself  to  the  lion's  portion,  so 


IO4  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

I  touched  the  bell.  "  Ann,"  said  I  quietly,  "  you 
may  take  this  toast  away,  and  bring  some  cold 
bread."  My  brother  started.  I  believe  he 
would  have  countermanded  my  order,  but  a 
smothered  laugh  from  the  girls  drew  his  atten- 
tion to  them  and  they  were  forthwith  dismissed 
from  the  table.  Of  course  they  went  directly 
to  the  kitchen  and  made  a  hearty  meal  from  the 
rejected  toast. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  I 
preserved  my  gravity  as  we  sat  opposite  to 
each  other  silently  munching  our  cold  bread. 
It  will  be  some  time  before  another  favorite  dish 
is  argued  off  the  table.  Political  and  religious 
and  scientific  disputations  are  bad  enough  to 
endure  without  having  one's  victuals  quarreled 
over. 

"Phillissa,"  said  my  brother  solemnly  as  he 
moved  his  chair  back  from  the  table,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  the  reasoning  powers  of  women  as 
compared  with  men  ?  " 

I  saw  that  a  long  tirade  against  the  intellect- 
uality of  my  sex  was  in  prospect,  so  I  answered 
coolly,  "  Compared  with  men  ?  I  did  not  know 
that  men  had  any  reasoning  powers  ? " 

Not  another  word  was  said  ;  but  as  soon  as  I 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  105 

could  leave  without  the  appearance  of  running 
away,  I  ran  up  to  my  room,  locked  my  door,  and 
laughed  myself  helpless  over  the  whole  affair. 

But  I  must  let  my  mind  run  back  several 
weeks  if  I  answer  all  your  questions.  At  first 
we  heard  from  Robert  often,  but  the  whole 
month  of  September  passed  without  a  word 
from  him.  Several  times  he  had  supposed  him- 
self on  the  eve  of  success,  but  invariably  had 
found  himself  looking  up  somebody  else's  rela- 
tions. But  instead  of  getting  discouraged  he 
grew  more  and  more  confident  that  his  cousin 
was  alive  and  would  be  found  at  last.  Late  in 
August  he  wrote  that  he  had  ascertained  that 
a  soldier  who  had  escaped  in  company  with 
Fred  was  living  in  La  Grange,  Texas,  and  he 
was  preparing  to  leave  New  Orleans  directly  to 
find  this  man. 

"  He'll  never  come  back,"  said  my  brother 
testily  after  hearing  the  letter  read.  "  There 
is  no  sense  in  his  wasting  his  time  and  money 
in  this  way.  The  people  of  Texas  are  half  sav- 
ages. It  is  the  last  place  that  Fred  would 
think  of  visiting.  If  he  is  alive  he  has  wit 
enough  to  come  home  now  that  the  war  is 
over." 


lo6  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

"  You  forget,  papa,  what  Robert  says  about 
the  effect  of  the  horrible  treatment  upon  the 
minds  of  the  prisoners.  And — and  Fred's 
mother  was  insane.  It  is  constitutional  in  her 
family.  There  is  no  telling  where  the  poor 
fellow  may  have  wandered  if  his  intellect  is 
disordered." 

"  Pooh !  it  is  easy  enough  to  imagine  such 
things.  There  is  no  evidence  to  my  mind  that 
Fred  is  alive.  The  fact  is,  that  Robert  likes  to 
travel,  and  this  affair  of  Fred's  gives  him  an 
excuse  for  doing  so.  A  soldier's  life  unsettles 
a  person  and  gives  him  a  roving  dispo- 
sition." 

Maggie  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  her  indig- 
nant thoughts. 

We  had  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  remarks 
like  these  all  through  September.  They  grew 
more  and  more  bitter  as  the  time  passed  with- 
out any  tidings,  and  at  last  the  'Squire  decided 
that  Robert  had  no  intention  of  returning  him- 
self, even  if  living,  which  was  doubtful. 

Maggie  is  not  easily  disheartened.  She  held 
up  bravely,  and  was  always  sure  there  was  a 
good  reason  for  her  daily  disappointment  in 
regard  to  a  letter.  But  the  color  left  her  cheek, 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  107 

and  her  merry  laugh  quite  deserted  her  as  the 
weary  days  of  waiting  went  on.  To  divert  her 
mind  one  afternoon  when  she  was  unusually 
thoughtful  and  silent  I  proposed  a  long  walk 
in  the  woods.  She  made  no  objection,  though 
I  could  see  that  she  was  indisposed  to  make 
any  exertion.  But  Cora  tied  on  her  hat  while 
Leonore  brought  her  parasol,  and  we  were 
soon  on  our  way.  It  was  a  beautiful  day.  The 
early  frosts  had  just  touched  the  trees,  and  the 
different  colors  were  most  lovely.  Still  it  was 
difficult  to  interest  Maggie.  She  was  evidently 
borrowing  trouble. 

"  What  can  be  the  occasion  of  Robert's  long 
silence,  Aunt  'Lissa  ?  " 

"  He  has  doubtless  written,  my  dear.  Let- 
ters get  mislaid  often  on  shorter  routes.  Do 
you  remember  that  letter  of  Cousin  Kate's, 
which  started  only  twelve  miles  from  us  and 
traveled  nearly  all  over  the  United  States  be- 
fore it  reached  us  ?  I  expect  that  Robert  is 
wondering  why  you  do  not  answer  this  letter 
that  you  have  not  received,  and,  like  you,  he  is 
tormenting  himself  to  account  for  your  neglect. 
When  he  gets  safely  home  I  shall  laugh  at  you 
both." 


io8  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

"  You  may,  Aunt  'Lissa,  if  he  ever  gets 
home." 

"  Now,  Maggie,  you  must  not  dwell  on  that 
dismal  thought.  The  chances  are  that  he  is  all 
right,  and  if  he  is  not,  there  will  be  time  for 
lamentation  and  mourning  after  you  find  it  out. 
Ugh  !  here's  a  wasp  on  my  sleeve  ;  brush  it  off, 
please." 

I  have  a  terror  of  wasps  and  hornets  and  all 
stinging  insects,  and  my  wise  brother's  argu- 
ments and  the  amusement  of  my  nieces  are  all 
thrown  away  when  attempting  to  reassure  me. 
I  know  from  experience  what  a  wasp's  sting  is. 
So  as  soon  as  I  saw  this  one,  with  his  long 
wind-mill  wings  spread,  awkwardly  balancing 
himself  for  a  walk  up  my  sleeve,  I  began  to 
jump  about  and  make  such  an  ado  that  Maggie 
forgot  her  trouble  in  laughing  at  me. 

"  It  is  a  white-faced  one,  Aunt  'Lissa ;  it 
wont  sting." 

"  O  dear !  Well,  I  do  despise  a  white-faced 
wasp.  It  is  regular  low-church.  The  hypo- 
crite !  It  has  no  business  to  personate  a  wasp. 
It  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  the  synagogue." 

"  Why,  Aunt  'Lissa,  you  did  not  want  it  to 
sting  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  109 

"  No  ;  but  it  shouldn't  pretend  to  be  a  wasp. 
Those  black-faced,  fiery  ones,  ready  to  stab  you 
without  a  moment's  notice,  have  the  real  doc- 
trine in  them.  They  are  wasps.  I  respect 
them." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Maggie,  laughing, 
"  for  there  is  one  of  them  on  your  bonnet.  And 
see,"  she  continued  as  she  bent  a  little  birch  to- 
ward me,  "here's  a  nest  of  them." 

"You  don't!  O  dear!  Get  out!"  I  gave 
but  one  look  at  the  nest  as  I  snatched  my  bon- 
net from  my  head,  threw  it  away,  and  ran  for 
dear  life.  The  low-church  wasp  rose  in  my 
estimation  at  every  step,  and  its  peaceable 
qualities  put  on  a  certain  dignity.  Maggie 
followed  me  as  fast  as  she  could  for  laughing, 
bringing  my  bonnet  with  her  and  thoroughly 
enjoying  my  fright.  I  will  not  deny  that  I 
exhibited  quite  as  much  of  this  as  I  felt ;  it 
was  so  charming  to  see  her  look  like  her  old 
self  again.  So  I  kept  on  till  I  was  clear  of  the 
wood  and  safe  in  the  high  road.  Then  I  sat 
down  to  recover  my  breath  and  wait  for  Maggie 
to  come  up. 

"  Well  done,  Aunt  'Lissa  !  I  knew  you  were 
the  quickest  little  woman  in  the  world,  but  I 


I IO  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

had  no  idea  you  could  run  like  that.  Do  you 
know  that  you  have  cleared  two  stone  wails 
and  a  tolerably  high  fence  without  once  stop- 
ping to  measure  them  ?  As  the  boys  say,  '  I'll 
bet  on  you  after  this.' " 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear.  You  know  there  are 
very  convenient  steps  at  each  of  these  barriers. 
It  is  the  regular  path  across  the  fields,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  Yes."  Maggie  answered  with  a  bright 
blush,  for  which  I  could  not  account  till  I  re- 
membered the  morning  of  Robert's  departure. 
"  Well,  aunt,  where  shall  we  go  now  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  you  please." 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  post-office." 

"  Yes,  but  do  not  expect  a  letter." 

It  was  nearly  a  mile  to  the  post-office,  but 
the  day  was  so  lovely  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
be  out  of  doors.  And  there  was  a  letter. 

Maggie  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes  when 
the  large  envelope,  which  she  knew  contained 
so  much,  was  handed  to  her. 

"  Let  us  find  a  quiet  place,  Aunt  'Lissa,  and 
read  what  Robert  says  before  we  go  home." 

"  Where  is  the  letter  mailed  ? " 

"  At  New  Orleans." 

Maggie  was  soon  lost  in  her  letter,  while  I 


Miss  Phillis^as  Letters.  HI 

sat  waiting  patiently  to  hear  if  there  was  any 
news  of  Fred. 

"  In  a  minute,"  was  her  response  to  my  re- 
peated inquiries.  At  last  I  laid  violent  hands 
on  the  letter  itself. 

"  I  will  take  it  away,  Maggie,  if  you  do  not 
tell  me  if  he  has  heard  from  Fred." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  has  found  him  at  last.  He  is 
in  New  Orleans,  and  has  never  been  in  Texas 
at  all." 

"  Then  Robert  had  his  journey  for  nothing." 

"  No,  for  it  was  at  Austin  that  he  first  got 
any  reliable  intelligence." 

"  But  how  is  Fred  ?  Why  didn't  he  come 
home  ?  Is  he  sick  ?  Why  has  he  kept  his 
whereabouts  so  private  ?  If  he  couldn't  write 
to  us  himself,  I  suppose  there  is  some  one  in 
the  city  who  could.  What  does  he  say  for  him- 
self? Maggie,  why  don't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  You  gave  me  no  chance,  Aunt  'Lissa.  Fred 
is  very  much  altered,  Robert  says — in  mind 
more  than  in  person.  The  horrors  of  Ander- 
sonville  were  too  much  for  him.  You  know 
how  tender-hearted  he  is.  He  is  rational  at 
times,  and  since  he  has  recognized  his  cousin 
seems  to  feel  easy.  All  the  time  he  has  suffered 


1 12  Miss  Pkillissas  Letters. 

from  a  fear  of  being  recaptured,  and  would 
neither  tell  his  name  nor  where  he  belonged. 
He  is  in  a  hospital,  well  cared  for,  and  Robert 
thinks  he  will  be  able  to  start  for  home  next 
week.  That  is  all  there  is  about  Fred,"  said 
Maggie,  coloring  rosily  as  she  saw  me  glance 
at  the  closely-written  sheets  which  she  was 
folding.  How  happy  she  looked  ! 

"  I  think  Andersonville  must  make  many 
infidels,"  was  her  next  remark  as  we  walked 
thoughtfully  homeward. 

"  Why,  my  pet  ?  " 

"Because  it  does  not  seem  as  if  a  merciful 
and  powerful  Being  could  suffer  such  wrong  to 
his  creatures.  To  Christian  patriots,  too." 

"  What  we  know  not  now  we  shall  know 
hereafter.  We  cannot  comprehend  the  infinite 
plans  of  the  Almighty.  It  is  useless  to  specu- 
late upon  such  subjects.  There  has  probably 
been  no  circumstance  of  the  war  which  has 
so  well  unmasked  the  diabolical  cruelty  of  the 
South  as  its  exhibition  at  Andersonville.  The 
European  sympathizers  with  the  rebellion  can 
now  understand  and  appreciate  its  chivalry." 

"  As  if  it  were  worth  while,  auntie,  for  all 
this  misery  to  be  endured  just  to  enlighten 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  113 

France  and  England  when  it  is  not  of  the  least 
consequence  what  either  nation  thinks  of  us  !" 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,  we  will  not  argue. 
Your  father  can  do  that  for  us  all." 

As  soon  as  we  got  home  I  sent  Maggie  to 
her  room  to  read  her  letter,  while  I  spread  the 
good  news  it  contained.  My  brother  tried  hard 
to  disguise  his  joy,  but  he  did  not  succeed. 
Even  while  his  lips  grumbled,  his  eyes  shone 
with  thankful  gladness.  There  is  a  warm,  good 
heart  under  his  rough  outside,  and  he  has  been 
so  sensible  and  considerate  for  a  week  that  I 
am  afraid  he  is  going  to  die. 

Mrs.  Peyton  came  over  to  spend  the  evening 
with  me.  She  is  a  widow,  about  forty  years 
old,  and  one  of  the  most  attractive  women  I 
ever  saw.  You  will  understand  that  I  im- 
proved Maggie's  hint  in  seeking  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  that  the  Quintet  Quarreling  Club — 
Q.  Q.  C. — will  not  have  it  all  their  own  way 
during  the  approaching  winter.  The  'Squire 
was  in  great  dread  all  the  evening,  though  he 
could  not  help  admiring  her.  Her  conversa- 
tional powers  are  superior  to  those  of  most 
women,  for  she  has  read  a  great  deal,  and  is  an 
independent  thinker. 


1 14  Mies  Pldllissiis  Letters. 

Once  or  twice,  when  the  conversation  hap- 
pened to  turn  upon  the  events  of  the  war  and 
the  present  policy  of  the  Government,  I  think 
my  brother  quite  forgot  that  she  was  a  woman 
and  a  widow,  for  he  contradicted  her  without 
ceremony,  commencing  his  remarks  with,  "  Now, 
sir,  let  me  show  you  that  you  know  nothing 
about  it."  But  generally  his  sense  of  danger 
from  her  presence  kept  him  quiet. 

Maggie  was  in  the  room,  with  her  cheerful- 
ness quite  restored,  ready  to  quarrel  with  her 
father  or  to  do  any  thing  else  for  the  general 
good.  Altogether  we  had  a  delightful  time, 
and  it  shall  not  be  the  last  of  the  kind  if  I  can 
help  it. 

Mrs.  Peyton  gave  us  an  amusing  account  of 
a  young  niece  of  hers.  She  belongs  to  a  family 
who  have  not  favored  the  war  or  given  a  cent 
to  aid  the  country  in  its  need,  but  whose  patriot- 
ism has  been  confined  to  finding  fault  with  all 
that  has  been  done  to  maintain  the  Union  cause. 
The  young  lady  had  a  lover,  and  they  were  ex- 
pecting to  be  married  soon  when  the  war  began. 
The  lover  was  a  good,  respectable,  but  rather 
ordinary  young  man,  with  no  positive  opinions 
or  principles  on  any  subject.  He  was  not  cour- 


Miss  Pkillissa's  Letters.  115 

ageous  enough  to  enlist  as  a  soldier,  and  both 
he  and  his  betrothed  lived  in  constant  fear  of 
his  being  drafted  into  the  service.  The  scorn- 
ful contempt  of  the  young  men  around  him 
who  were  bravely  responding  to  the  call  of  the 
country,  and  even  the  mirthful  ridicule  of  the 
fairer  sex,  were  unheeded  ;  it  were  small  conso- 
lation to  be  applauded  by  these  after  being  killed 
in  battle.  His  head,  small  and  empty  as  it  was, 
was  all  the  head  he  had,  and  he  was  naturally 
tender  of  it ;  so,  to  avoid  the  draft,  he  left 
home  and  went  to  Canada.  No  one,  excepting 
his  mother  and  his  affianced  wife,  knew  what  had 
become  of  him,  though  many  suspected  the 
truth.  Of  course  the  marriage  was  delayed, 
and  the  wedding  outfit  packed  'away  till  more 
auspicious  times.  There  were  no  letters  written 
during  the  war,  the  young  lady  having  an  im- 
pression that  if  his  abode  were  known  the 
United  States  would  straightway  require  the 
British  authorities  to  hand  the  little  fellow  over 
to  be  tried  and  shot  for  desertion.  But  when 
the  war  was  over  she  naturally  began  to  look 
after  him  and  marvel  at  his  non-appearance. 
"  You,  Miss  Maggie,"  said  Mrs.  Peyton,  "  will 
know  how  to  pity  her  when  I  tell  you  that  she 


Ii6  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

has  just  learned  that  he  has  been  two  years 
married  to  a  pretty  Scotch  girl,  has  a  bright 
boy  about  fifteen  months  old,  and  has  settled 
down  into  a  loyal  subject  of  good  Queen 
Victoria." 

"  Served  her  right,"  said  Maggie.  "  She  don't 
deserve  a  husband,  though  the  love  of  such  a 
poltroon  is  scarcely  worth  mentioning." 

"  He  seems  to  have  prospered,"  said  my 
brother. 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  he  was  not  to  blame  if  he 
had  no  manliness  in  him.  He  couldn't  exhibit 
a  noble  spirit  or  an  unselfish  love  of  his  coun- 
try because  he  hadn't  either.  He  was  honest 
at  least,  poor  fellow." 

"  I  wish  she  had  been  engaged  to  David  Mal- 
lows, and  had  transplanted  him  to  the  British 
Provinces,"  said  Maggie  suddenly. 

"Why,  my  dear?"  asked  her  father  in  an 
amused  tone. 

"  You  know,  papa.  Just  listen,"  said  Maggie, 
throwing  up  the  window.  We  all  smiled,  for, 
crooning  along  upon  the  air,  as  if  every  note 
was  bursting  with  agony,  came  the  wailing 
sounds  of  a  fiddle. 

"  He  is  a  lazy,   shiftless  fellow,  papa.      He 


Miss  Phillissa  's  Letters.  1 1 7 

makes  the  whole  neighborhood  hideous.  Aren't 
you  one  of  the  select  men  ?  I  complain  of  him 
as  a  public  nuisance.  His  wife  told  me  that  he 
had  seven  fiddles,  one  for  every  day  in  the 
week,  and  she  isn't  sure  whether  she  has  her 
senses  left  or  not.  He  repairs  fiddles  and  tunes 
them,  and  gets  them  under  such  headway  that 
they  can't  stop  going  if  they  would.  Why 
wasn't  he  drafted  and  put  in  the  front  of  the 
battle  ?  Think  of  the  thousands  of  useful  men 
who  have  fallen,  and  here  he  has  been  fiddling 
the  neighbors  into  fits  all  the  time.  He  ought 
to  live  on  an  island  with  all  his  fiddles  in  full 
screech." 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  'Squire,  "  you 
will  have  the  remedy  in  your  own  hands.  Rob- 
ert owns  the  cottage  where  Mallows  lives.  You 
can  turn  him  out." 

"  But  his  poor  wife,  papa." 

My  brother  grew  nervously  restless  as  the 
evening  wore  on.  He  knew  that  common  civil- 
ity would  require  him  to  escort  Mrs.  Peyton  to 
her  home,  and,  alas  !  there  was  no  Canada  near 
wherein  he  could  seek  refuge.  He  had  odd  fits 
of  silence,  and  he  changed  his  seat  continually. 
At  last,  when  he  was  ingeniously  counterfeiting 


Il8  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

a  sudden  attack  of  ague  in  his  face,  and  query- 
ing whether  he  hadn't  better  go  directly  to  bed 
and  drink  hot  tea  to  induce  perspiration,  Mrs. 
Peyton's  brother  arrived,  and  it  appeared  that 
she  had  been  expecting  him  to  come  for  her. 
The  'Squire  recovered  so  rapidly  on  learning 
this  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to  insist  on  nursing 
his  sudden  cold  ;  but  "  an  ounce  of  prevention 
is  worth  •  a  pound  of  cure,"  and  I  resolved  to 
do  my  duty.  I  began  to  heat  soap-stones. 
"  Bother ! "  exclaimed  the  'Squire.  "  I  tell  you 
I  am  as  well  as  ever  I  was.  The  pain  has  quite 
left  me." 

"  It  will  return.  It  never  leaves  so  suddenly 
when  it  means  to  stay  away.  A  slight  cold  is 
often  the  insidious  herald  of  graver  diseases. 
The  foot-bath  will  be  ready  directly.  Put  mus- 
tard in  it,  Maggie,  and  have  it  as  hot  as  he  can 
bear  it." 

"  O,  bother ! "  growled  the  'Squire. 

Maggie  assisted  me  most  zealously.  By  the 
time  her  father  was  in  bed  and  I  had  arranged 
the  soap-stones  and  bottles  of  hot  water  about 
him,  she  was  ready  with  a  steaming  bowl  of 
thoroughwort  tea.  This  he  was  determined 
not  to  taste,  and  our  united  efforts  were  not 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  iig 

sufficient  to  induce  him  to  swallow  it.  And,  in- 
deed, we  had  scarcely  left  his  room,  after  tuck- 
ing the  bed-clothes  snugly  around  him,  before 
we  heard  the  soap-stones  rolled  out  upon  the 
floor,  and  the  loud  "  whish  "  of  the  water-bottles 
as  they  broke  against  the  wall.  You  will  im- 
agine that  I  had  little  hope  of  breaking  up  his 
cold  after  this. 

This  was  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  must  not 
close  my  letter  without  telling  you  that  Robert 
and  Fred  are  at  home.  Fred  will  never  be  well 
again.  His  constitution  is  quite  broken  up. 
He  is  rational,  as  a  general  thing,  and  his  res- 
toration to  his  home  has  done  much  to  quiet 
him ;  but  the  disease  contracted  in  that  horrid 
pen  at  Andersonville  will  soon  lay  him  in  his 
grave.  When  his  mind  wanders  he  is  perfectly 
harmless,  and  then  his  chief  delight  is  in  wash- 
ing his  hands  over  and  over  again  to  remove 
the  prison  filth  which  he  fancies  still  adheres 
to  them. 

Robert  watches  him  constantly,  and  Maggie 
goes  to  visit  him  now. 

"  I  am  glad  they  have  taken  a  liking  to  each 
other,  Phillissa,"  says  the  'Squire. 

"  So  am  I,"  I  answer. 


1 20  Miss  Pliillissas  Letters. 

My  dearest  Kate,  I  have  hopes  of  my  brother. 
Unless  he  is  being  prepared  to  die  he  is  getting 
ready  to  live.  He  is  growing  gentle.  -He  does 
not  argue,  that  is,  scold,  half  so  much  as  he  did, 
and  he  does  not  contradict  us  above  two  thirds 
of  the  time.  So  while  all  our  prospects  are  so 
inviting  and  encouraging,  I  will  take  the  oppor- 
tunity to  bid  you  a  cheerful  good-by. 

In  love  as  ever,  PHILLISSA  BROWN. 

MERTOWN,  Jan.  2. 

DEAR  KATE, — Your  last  letter  came  to  me 
the  evening  after  Fred  died.  I  have  felt  little 
inclination  to  write  to  any  one  since,  and  have 
put  off  all  correspondence,  even  yours,  till  the 
fear  of  offending  past  forgiveness  impels  me  to 
take  up  my  pen.  And  yet,  now  that  the  first 
effort  is  ma:le,  the  pleasure  of  being  in  com- 
munication with  you  gives  a  spur  to  my  pen 
which  will  speedily  fill  these  blank  sheets.  This 
premonitory  glow  of  delight,  heralding  the  rush 
of  sweet  memories — memories  of  our  past — 
makes  me  as  eager  to  speak  as  I  was  just  now 
reluctant. 

You  say  I  must  begin  where  I  left  off  and 
tell  you  every  thing. 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  121 

Poor  Fred !  As  his  strength  declined  his  in- 
tellect brightened,  but  it  never  regained  its  old 
power.  He  lay  on  a  sofa  day  after  day,  wasting 
and  sinking,  not  suffering  pain  apparently,  but 
gradually  growing  weaker  till  the  last.  And  all 
the  time,  in  spite  of  the  opinion  of  a  score  of 
doctors  and  the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes,  Robert 
clung  to  the  hope  of  his  recovery.  He  scarcely 
left  him  by  day  or  night.  "  If  Fred  only  gets 
well,"  was  his  reply  to  all  who  urged  him  to 
take  care  of  himself.  But  Fred  did  not  get  well. 
He  died  very  peacefully,  very  happily,  a  month 
ago,  just  at  sunrise.  One  more  martyr  for  his 
country — one  more  redeemed  saint  in  heaven. 

It  has  been  clear,  cold  weather  for  a  fortnight, 
and  there  is  just  snow  enough  for  good  sleigh- 
ing. But  skating  has  been  the  principal  pas- 
time of  our  young  people.  The  great  pond  is 
frozen  over,  and  its  three  miles  of  smooth  sur- 
face offer  wonderful  attractions  to  the  young. 
Among  my  nieces  Maggie  is  the  only  one  who 
cares  for  the  sport,  and  last  week  there  was  a 
terrible  accident  which  will  be  a  life-long  lesson 
to  her. 

The  weather  had  been  moderating  for  two 
days,  and  there  were  suspicious-looking  cracks 


122  Aliss  PJiillissas  Letters. 

in  the  ice,  though  it  was  considered  safe.  The 
young  people  were  in  the  height  of  their  enjoy- 
ment, when  suddenly  a  sharp  cry  of  terror  rang 
out  above  the  laughter  and  merry  voices,  and  a 
rush  of  the  crowd  backward  from  the  center  of 
the  pond  revealed  quite  an  extent  of  broken 
ice,  and  human  forms  struggling  in  the  black 
waters. 

In  a  moment  more  the  young  men  were 
skating  back  to 'the  rescue  of  their  companions. 
Through  the  good  providence  of  God  five  were 
saved,  among  them  our  own  pet  Maggie,  who 
was  taken  out  insensible.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  horrible  dread  that  nearly  paralyzed  me 
when  she  was  brought  into  the  house.  Robert 
was  with  her.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
been  on  the  ice  since  Fred  died,  and  he  had 
only  left  Maggie  for  a  moment  when  the  ice 
gave  way  under  her  feet.  He  had  saved  her, 
but  •  was  unable  to  give  us  any  particulars 
except  that  he  had  been  able  to  swim  with 
her  in  his  arms  to  the  thick  ice,  where  they 
were  both  lifted  out  by  their  companions. 
How  he  had  found  her  in  the  water  he  could 
not  tell,  but  he  remembered  that  he  had  to 
choose  between  saving  Maggie  and  a  slender 


Miss  Phillusd's  Letters.  123 

boy  who  was  sinking  for  the  last  time  close  by 
her  side. 

The  little  fellow  knew  that  he  must  die,  but  in 
that  awful  moment  he  remembered  his  mother. 
Alas  !  he  was  her  only  son  and  she  is  a  widow. 

"  My  mother !  give  my  love  to  my  mother," 
was  his  last  cry  as  the  waters  closed  over  him. 
The  rest  were  all  saved. 

My  brother  has  positively  forbidden  all  future 
skating  by  Maggie.  She  does  not  need  the 
prohibition  ;  she  is  too  thoroughly  frightened  to 
venture  again  on  the  ice. 

For  my  part,  I  think  it  an  unsuitable,  indeco- 
rous amusement  for  young  ladies.  But,  as  I 
remind  Robert,  I  am  an  old  maid,  with  a  long 
neck,  from  Down  East — name  of  Miss  Phillissa. 

I  must  not  forget  to  answer  your  inquiries  in 
regard  to  the 'Squire.  He  does  admirably.  He 
is  growing  in  politeness  and  good-nature,  as 
well  as  in  grace.  A  really  execrable  beef-steak, 
which  no  mortal  power  could  masticate,  made 
the  tour  of  our  breakfast-table  this  morning 
without  exciting  remark  ;  though  I  may  as  well 
confess  that  the  'Squire's  looks  were  sufficiently 
eloquent  without  words.  He  and  Mrs.  Peyton 
are  the  best  of  friends.  I  must  tell  vou  how  it 


124  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

happened.  She  had  observed  with  consider- 
able vexation  that  he  looked  with  doubt  and 
suspicion  upon  her  repeated  visits  to  me,  and, 
being  a  woman,  she  was  not  long  in  fathoming 
the  cause.  She  has  courage  as  well  as  refine- 
ment, and  she  has  likewise  the  straightforward 
speech  and  manner  of  your  humble  correspond- 
ent. So  she  did  not  wait  for  long  years  of 
social  intercourse  to  annihilate  the  'Squire's 
bugbear,  but  attacked  it  at  once. 

"  I  do  not  come  here  to  see  you,"  she  said  to 
him.  "  I  come  always  to  see  your  sister.  I 
like  you  very  well,  but  I  like  her  much  better. 
I  know  that  you  cannot  see  me  here  without 
remembering  that  I  am  a  widow  and  that  you 
are  a  widower.  Now,  I  could  come  here  any 
number  of  times  without  thinking  of  this  if 
your  manner  did  not  remind  me.  Let  us  un- 
derstand the  position.  You  may  be  in  the 
market,  but  I  am  not.  If  I  wished  to  marry 
again  you  would  not  be  my  choice." 

For  once  in  his  life  the  'Squire  seemed  to 
be  at  a  loss  for  words.  His  confusion  was  so 
comical  that  I  had  to  rummage  all  through  a 
cupboard  in  pretended  search  for  something 
lost  in  order  to  conceal  the  amusement  I  felt. 


Miss  Phillisscfs  Letters.  125 

"Have  you  no  fear  of  gossip,  ma'am?"  he 
?aid  at  last. 

"  Not  a  fear.  No  one  who  knows  us  both 
would  dream  of  associating  us  together,  and 
strangers  will  not  interest  themselves  in  the 
matter.  Be  at  rest ;  there  is  no  danger." 

"  Why  have  you  told  me  this  ?" 

"  From  pure  compassion,  a  womanly  virtue. 
I  could  not  bear  that  you  should  suffer  any  dis- 
quiet that  could  be  so  easily  remedied.  It  is 
better  to  understand  the  truth." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  then  sat  silent  a 
long  time  playing  with  an  ivory  paper-knife 
which  lay  on  the  table.  But  there  was  a  secret 
discontent  that  showed  itself  upon  his  face,  and 
he  did  not,  as  usual,  join  in  our  conversation. 

"  You  seem  scarcely  satisfied  with  my  at- 
tempt to  make  our  relations  frank  and  easy," 
observed  Mrs.  Peyton  to  him  as  she  rose  to 
take  leave  of  us. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  answered 
honestly,  "  I  thought  your  way  of  stating  the 
case  implied  that  I  was  a  sort  of  good-for-noth- 
ing fellow.  Is  that  your  real  opinion  of  me  ? " 

"  Ah,  I  see.  I  wounded  your  self-love.  No, 
that  is  not  my  opinion  of  you.  I  respect  you 


126  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

for  the  strong  points  of  your  character,  for  your 
natural  ability  and  extensive  information.  Your 
real  goodness  of  heart,  even  more  than  your 
acknowledged  mental  power,  commands  my  es- 
teem as  it  does  the  respect  of  all  who  know  you. 
But,"  she  continued,  smiling  as  she  saw  his  face 
brighten,  "  but  your  egotism  spoils  you." 

"  Thank  you." 

He  was  not  offended ;  he  rarely  is  down- 
right angry.  He  even  joined  her  in  laughing 
over  the  rather  odd  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tion, but  he  was  unusually  thoughtful  for  sev- 
eral days.  And  they  are  the  best  of  friends. 
She  comes  in  and  out  with  the  freedom  of  a 
sister,  and  is  a  favorite  with  us  all. 

•She  was  here  nearly  all  this  morning  playing 
duets  on  the  piano  with  Maggie.  Her  musical 
taste  is  fine,  and  so  is  her  style,  which  is  plaint- 
ive rather  than  brilliant.  The  liveliest  waltz 
breathes  a  certain  pathos  under  her  touch.  I 
went  down  stairs  when  I  heard  them  begin 
Mendelssohn's  Overture  to  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream.  They  played  together  admira- 
bly. As  the  music  went  on  an  expression  of 
deep  sadness  came  over  Mrs.  Peyton's  face,  and 
I  was  struck,  as  I  had  been  many  times  before, 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  127 

with  the  depth  of  feeling  which  characterizes 
her  playing.  I  have  heard  those  same  tones 
rendered  with  so  little  expression  as  to  change 
the  whole  scope  of  the  composition. 

"  I  never  play  this  piece,"  she  said,  "  without 
recalling  a  dear  young  friend,  of  whom  you, 
Maggie,  often  remind  me." 

"  Not  unpleasantly,  I  hope." 

"  She  was  a  gay,  thoughtless  young  girl,  lik- 
ing society  and  its  amusements,  very  fond  of 
dancing,  but  more  passionately  fond  of  music 
than  of  any  thing  else.  The  death  of  her 
mother  gave  her  the  first  serious  thoughts  of 
her  life,  and  for  a  few  months  she  attended 
Church  regularly  and  sought  the  society  of 
pious  people.  But  the  seriousness  soon  wore 
off  and  left  her  gayer  than  ever.  I  often  talked 
with  her,  and  did  my  best  to  win  her  to  better 
things  ;  but  she  would  put  me  off  with  a  kiss  or 
a  jesting  word,  and  tell  me  that  I  must  wait  for 
age  to  bring  her  wisdom." 

.  "Tell  me  more  about  her,"  said  Maggie. 
"What  became  of  her  ?  Is  she  living?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  is  ten  years  since  she  died. 
It  was  a  pleasant,  wintry  day  like  this.  She 
"was  preparing  to  leave  home  to  spend  a  month 


128  Miss  Phillissds  Letters, 

among  the  gay  pleasures  of  the  city.  Her 
trunks  were  partly  packed  when  I  went  in,  but 
she  left  them  to  run  over  this  overture  with 
me.  She  was  so  gay  that  I  used  to  wonder  at 
her  taste  for  classical  music.  We  went  over 
the  music  twice,  and  then  she  hurried  up  stairs 
to  resume  her  packing,  I  still  lingering  at  the 
piano.  Scarcely  a  minute  had  elapsed  before  I 
was  startled  by  a  loud  scream  and  a  heavy 
fall.  I  ran  up  stairs,  followed  by  her  father, 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  house.  She  lay  on 
the  floor  with  both  hands  clasped  tightly  upon 
her  forehead. 

"  Her  father  raised  her  in  his  arms,  suppos- 
ing at  first  that  her  fall  was  accidental.  But 
one  glance  at  her  face,  which  was  almost  purple 
from  the  pressure  of  blood  to  her  head,  showed 
us  her  real  danger.  He  laid  her  on  the  bed 
and  I  ran  for  help,  but  we  soon  saw  that  it  was 
in  vain.  She  knew  it  too. 

" '  Eliza,  dear  Eliza,  do  you  know  that  you 
are  dying  ?'  I  cried  in  such  agony  of  mind  as  I 
never  before  experienced. 

" '  Yes.'  I  could  just  hear  the  whispered 
answer." 

"  '  Are  you  afraid  ? ' 


Miss  Phillissas  Letters.  129 

" '  O,  yes  ! '  These  words  were  spoken  aloud, 
but  she  breathed  her  last  in  uttering  them." 

"  Dreadful !  "  said  Maggie,  shuddering.  "  I 
shall  never  care  to  play  this  piece  again." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Peyton,  "  the  music 
is  none  the  less  beautiful  because  of  this  sad 
association.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  have  told 
you  this  ?  It  is  because  I  so  earnestly  desire  to 
have  you  feel  how  unsafe  it  is  to  delay  one  mo- 
ment in  seeking  a  preparation  for  death." 

Maggie  colored,  hesitated,  looked  at  me,  and 
then  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Aunt  'Lissa,  I  some- 
times think  I  am  a  Christian.  I  want  to  be 
one.  Not  just  a  professor  of  religion,  like  many 
careless  Church-members,  for  that  would  be 
worse  than  nothing ;  but  a  real,  thorough  Bible 
Christian.  That  night  when  I  was  so  nearly 
drowned  was  a  dreadful  night  to  me.  I  kept 
thinking  what  a  mercy  it  was  that  Robert  was 
there.  But  what  if  he  had  not  recognized  me, 
and  had  saved  that  poor  boy  instead  ?  What 
would  have  become  of  me  ?  It  was  impossible 
to  sleep  with  all  those  awful  thoughts  rushing 
into  my  mind.  I  have  many  times  prayed  for 
a  new  heart,  but  never  so  earnestly  as  then. 
And  I  think,"  said  Maggie,  looking  down  and 


1 30  Miss  Pliillissas  Letters. 

coloring  with  embarrassment  as  she  made  her 
profession,  "  I  think  that  God  heard  my  prayers 
at  last.  I  felt  so  peaceful,  so  happy !  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  sweet  it  was,  and  I  have  felt  it 
ever  since.  Robert  thinks  my  heart  has  been 
really  changed,  but  then  he  cannot  see  into  it 
as  God  does.  But  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  I 
want  to  serve  God  and  to  enjoy  his  love.  And 
I  shall  not  stop  trying  to  do  this  so  long  as  I 
live." 

I  need  not  tell  you,  dearest  Kate,  how  truly 
I  rejoice  over  this,  my  pet  lamb  of  the  flock. 
Cora  and  Leonore  seem  to  be  of  a  different  na- 
ture ;  they  are  meek  and  gentle,  like  their 
mother. 

Maggie  resembles  my  brother.  She  has  a 
resolute  will  of  her  own,  which  would  often 
make  her  disagreeable  were  it  not  for  her  affec- 
tionate heart. 

Our  kitchen  maid,  Ann,  is  in  a  state  of  great 
anxiety  about  the  'Squire.  She  has  lived  in 
the  family  fifteen  years,  and  is  much  attached 
to  him.  She  thinks  he  is  "  ripening  for  heaven 
surely,"  because  he  has  ceased  to  find  fault. 
The  coffee  suits,  beefsteak  ditto,  muffins  ditto, 
etc.  The  humps  have  all  disappeared  from  his 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  131 

mattress,  and  the  counterpane  is  beautifully 
straight. 

You  have  seen  in  the  papers  an  account  of 
the  revival  in  our  Church.  It  was  ended  in  the 
usual  way.  Some  of  the  sisters  began  to  plan 
a  Church  fair.  There  has  been  a  debt  on  the 
church  for  a  dozen  years,  and  it  was  proposed 
to  take  advantage  of  the  general  interest  in  re- 
ligious matters  to  get  up  a  big  fair,  pay  the 
debt,  and  make  a  handsome  present  to  the  min- 
ister. The  pastor  and  the  more  spiritually- 
minded  Church-members  objected  strongly. 
They  thought  it  would  divert  the  public  mind 
from  its  most  important  interest,  and  our  min- 
ister declared  that  he  wished  for  no  gift  that 
must  be  gained  at  such  a  price. 

Dear  Kate,  did  you  ever  know  a  fair  to  be 
given  up  when  two  or  three  women  had  once 
laid  their  heads  together  and  determined  on 
one  ?  The  approbation  of  the  pastor  and  the 
leading  Church-members  is  very  good  if  it  can 
be  had,  but  it  is  not  necessary. 

Well,  the  ladies  had  their  fair,  and  a  grand 
occasion  it  was.  "It  was  tip-top,"  said  Bessy 
Layton,  one  of  the  rudest  girls  in  the  parish. 
"  Tip-top — as  good  as  a  ball  or  the  theater." 


1 32  Miss  PJiillissas  Letters. 

It  was  held  in  the  vestry  of  the  church,  which 
had  been  once  dedicated  to  the  service  of  God. 
There  were  tableaux,  comic  songs,  theatrical 
acting,  a  post-office,  and  grab-box.  But  the 
chief  interest  was  divided  between  the  refresh- 
ment-tables and  a  variety  of  lotteries,  which 
last,  being  forbidden  by  the  laws  of  our  State, 
had  very  appropriately  taken  refuge  in  the 
Church. 

The  debt  is  paid,  the  minister  has  received 
his  present  and  been  blessed  in  spite  of  himself, 
and,  instead  of  the  fervent  prayer-meetings  of 
the  early  winter,  we  are  having  a  series  of  sur- 
prise parties,  which  take  exceedingly  well  among 
the  young  people. 

Cora  is  to  be  married  very  soon.  My  brother 
has  ceased  to  object  to  the  young  minister's  pov- 
erty, and  we  are  all  busy  with  the  preparations 
for  the  itinerant  housekeeping. 

I  went  with  the  young  couple  to  a  meeting 
held  in  a  forlorn-looking  school-house  in  a  for- 
lorn-looking neighborhood  about  five  miles  down 
the  shore.  I  had  never  heard  my  intended 
nephew  preach,  and  indeed  had  scarcely  become 
acquainted  with  him  at  all.  He  is  very  quiet 
and  diffident  in  his  manner,  and  seldom  speaks 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  133 

in  company  unless  he  is  spoken  to  I  have 
often  rallied  Cora  upon  his  silence,  and  asked 
her  how  it  was  possible  for  a  dumb  man  to 
preach. 

She  always  laughed  contentedly  and  answered, 
"  Come  and  see." 

I  will  confess  that  I  have  seldom  been  more 
astonished  than  I  was  when  he  commenced  the 
service.  Every  trace  of  bashful  embarrass- 
ment had  vanished.  An  inexpressible  dignity 
of  manner  gave  authority  to  the  gracious  words 
he  uttered,  and  there  was  a  musical  fullness  and 
power  in  his  voice  which  bore  no  resemblance 
to  the  weak,  hesitating  utterance  that  character- 
ized him  in  society. 

"  He  is  cut  out  for  a  preacher,  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that,"  I  admitted  to  Cora  when  we 
were  discussing  the  sermon  at  home,  "  but  how 
will  he  manage  about  pastoral  visiting  ? " 

"  I  must  visit  with  him,  Aunt  'Lissa,"  she 
answered  quietly,  "  and  make  it  as  easy  as  I 
can." 

The  school-house  where  he  preached  was  an 
old-style  affair,  with  seats  running  all  round  the 
room,  and  sharp-edged  shelves  at  the  back  for 
the  convenience  of  writing.  These  last  served 


134  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

as  seats  for  the  people,  and  the  little  room  was 
crowded. 

Just  after  the  opening  exercises,  when  we 
were  settling  ourselves  into  the  easiest  attitudes 
for  listening  to  the  sermon,  I  saw  through  the 
window  a  woman  running  toward  the  house. 
She  had  a  blanket  pinned  over  her  head,  but,  al- 
though it  was  a  cold  day,  I  saw  that  she  wore 
no  stockings. 

As  she  entered  the  room  she  just  glanced 
round  for  an  unoccupied  seat,  but  seeing  none 
she  seated  herself  on  the  low  platform  by  the 
speaker's  desk.  Not  another  look  did  she  be- 
stow upon  the  audience,  but  with  her  head 
thrown  a  little  back  to  enable  her  to  see  the 
preacher,  she  listened  to  him  as  if  every  word 
were  a  sentence  of  life  or  death. 

I  could  scarcely  keep  my  eyes  from  her  face. 
It  was  very  plain,  but  as  the  sermon  went  on 
and  her  eyes  softened  with  tears,  or  brightened 
with  hopeful  smiles,  she  became  beautiful  with 
spiritual  loveliness.  She  hurried  away  as  soon 
as  the  audience  was  dismissed,  not  stopping  to 
speak  to  any  one. 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  I  asked  of  a  woman  near  me. 
"  What  is  her  name  ? " 


Miss  P/iillissa's  Letters.  135 

"  Lovel — Martha  Lovel — Tim  Level's  wife." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ? " 

"Just  round  the  point  Her  husband  drinks 
awfully,  and  abuses  her  for  coming  to  meeting. 
She'll  catch  it  when  she  gets  home." 

"  Has  she  any  children  ?  " 

"  Seven  of  them  ;  one  is  a  baby.  She  has  to 
support  them  all.  Something  of  a  job,  ma'am, 
with  the  prices  where  they  are  now." 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed.  Do  you  ever 
visit  her  ? " 

"  I  ?  Why,  they  live  in  a  little  hut  no  bigger 
than  a  pig-pen.  I  wouldn't  stay  there  half  an 
hour  for  ten  dollars." 

"  But  she  lives  there,  you  say,"  I  urged. 

"  Well,  she  is  used  to  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Has  she  no  neighbors  ?  " 

"  No.  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
low  set  her  husband  mates  with,  and,  of  course, 
better  people  look  down  upon  her.  It  is  a 
pity,"  said  the  woman,  "for  the  children  are 
always  well-behaved,  and  they  look  tidy  though 
they  wear  patches  of  all  colors.  Little  Jemmy 
is  a  real  smart  boy,  and  he'd  be  called  a  beauty 
anywhere  else.  And  Martha  herself  always 
looks  clean.  I  should  give  right  up  if  I  was  in 


1 36  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

her  place,  but  there  is  nothing  like  being  used 
to  a  thing." 

"  Is  she  a  Church-member  ? " 

"O,  yes!" 

"Are  you?" 

She  colored,  but  answered  readily,  "  Yes." 

"  And  she  is  one  of  Christ's  poor — one  of  the 
little  ones  committed  to  his  people  in  sacred 
trust.  In  the  day  of  judgment  somebody  will 
be  held  responsible  for  her  false  position  among 
his  followers.  Somebody  will  be  told  before  the 
assembled  universe,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not 
to  this  woman,  one  of  the  least  of  my  disciples, 
ye  did  it  not  unto  me.' " 

"  My  husband  is  waiting  for  me,  ma'am. 
Good-day." 

I  had  only  to  tell  this  to  our  home-circle  to 
awaken  an  active  interest  in  the  poor  woman 
and  her  family.  Cora  and  Leonore  drove  over 
to  see  her  the  next  morning,  and  my  brother 
gave  a  liberal  sum  to  be  expended  for  her  ben- 
efit. Robert  and  Maggie  spent  a  whole  day  in 
driving  about  from  house  to  house  collecting 
flour,  meal,  butter,  and  the  various  things  which 
go  to  stock  a  pantry.  They  went  in  the  great 
farm  wagon,  and  Maggie  said  that  they  begged 


Miss  Phillissa's  Letters.  137 

at  every  door.  Some  contributed  clothing,  and 
some  gave  money,  and  several  farmers  offered 
to  employ  the  drunken  husband  if  he  could  be 
persuaded  to  give  up  drinking. 

"Now,"  said  Maggie,  "it  would  be  a  real 
pleasure  to  take  all  this  to  her  if  we  could  be 
sure  the  old  toper  would  never  get  a  bite  of  it 
at  all." 

"  He  may  reform,"  said  Robert  encouragingly. 

Maggie's  face  expressed  her  doubts.  "It  is 
only  in  stories  that  such  things  happen.  And 
this  is  real  life,  you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  and  so  was  Dan  Bent's  case  in  real 
life.  He  reformed." 

" '  Blessed  are  they  who  expect  nothing,  for 
they  shall  not  be  disappointed/  "  quoted  Maggie 
gravely. 

I  look  at  the  bright  young  face,  and  then 
catching  the  sweetness  of  Cora's  smile,  I  sadly 
ask  myself  what  will  the  home-place  be  when 
its  young  bloom  is  removed  to  grace  other 
dwellings  ?  My  brother  seems  to  read  my 
thoughts,  and  says,  with  a  gentleness  which  is 
becoming  habitual, 

"  It  must  be  so,  Phillissa.  The  young  birds 
will  seek  out  nests  for  themselves.  But  we 


1 38  Miss  Phillissas  Letters. 

will  grow  old  here  together  and  make  a  home 
for  each  other." 

I  ought  to  be  thankful,  Kate,  and  I  think  I 
am.  Maggie  and  Leonore  will  be  near  us,  and 
Cora,  wherever  she  may  wander,  will  call  this 
place  her  home.  The  argumentative  neighbors 
still  come  in  of  an  evening,  but  it  does  not  an- 
noy me  as  of  old.  A  gentler  spirit  seems  to 
rule,  and  confident  assertions  of  opinion  and 
contradiction  often  yield  to  loving  truth  and 
reason.  So  good-by,  my  dear  friend.  God 
ever  bless  and  keep  you  !  PHJLLISSA. 


Natural  History,  \  39 


NATURAL   HISTORY. 

A  FEW  ILLUSTRATIONS   OF  THE   SPECIES  "  BORE." 


3TLT  was  a  raw,  cold   morning  in  March,  too 

(sk  unpleasant  for  any  body  to  go  out,  and  not 

pleasant  enough  for  any  body  to  come  in — 

just  such  a  morning  in  fact  as  a  tidy  house- 
keeper loves  to  see,  when,  the  week's  washing 
and  ironing  being  done,  the  universal  mending 
and  sorting  comes  under  her  inspection.  It  was 
such  an  occupation  that  the  ever-busy  fingers 
of  Emily  Howard,  the  wife  of  our  minister,  were 
engaged,  and  although  she  was  one  of  the 
most  cheerful  and  brisk  little  housekeepers  in 
the  world,  it  must  be  confessed  that  a  look  of 
dismay  settled  upon  her  face  as  she  unfolded 
piece  after  piece  of  boyish  attire  and  surveyed 
the  various  rents  therein. 

Who  is  not  thankful  when  a  good  old  maiden 
aunt,  with  plenty  of  leisure  at  her  command, 
presents  herself,  thimble  and  needle  in  hand,  in 

such  a  domestic  crisis  as  this  ?     Aunt  Phebe's 
10 


Nattirftl  Hist  try. 

kind  face  never  looked  dearer  than  when  it 
peered  into  the  door  on  this  particular  morning. 
As  soon  as  the  work  was  sorted  out,  and  the 
business  of  replacing  a  button  here  and  a  stray 
tape  there  was  finally  commenced,  Aunt  Phebe 
turned  to  her  niece  and  said, 

"  Have  you  heard,  Emily,  about  the  lady  who 
is  giving  lectures  in  Snowton  ? " 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  She  has  wonderful  talents  I  am  told.  I 
should  like  to  hear  her.  Don't  you  think,  my 
dear,  that  Mr.  Howard  will  invite  her  to  lecture 
in  his  pulpit  if  she  comes  here  ? " 

The  young  minister's  wife  raised  her  eyes 
and  her  hands  beseechingly. 

"  Don't,  Aunt  Phebe,"  she  exclaimed,  "  pray, 
don't  mention  the  thing  to  George.  There  is 
nothing  so  sure  to  give  him  the  blues  as  the 
advent  of  one  of  those  self-commissioned  lectur- 
ers or  lecturesses.  And  I  confess  I  am  almost 
as  bad  as  he  is." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  the  old 
lady  in  some  astonishment ;  "  it  is  a  free  country. 
Haven't  they  a  right  to  lecture  if  they  choose 
to  do  so  ?  Don't  be  unreasonable,  Emmy." 

"  If  the  right  to  lecture  were  all  that  they 


Natural  History.  141 

required  I  would  not  object,  though  I  should 
think  they  might  be  better  employed  ;  but,  aunt, 
their  rights  should  not  be  suffered  to  infringe 
upon  the  rights  of  others." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  that  they  expect  to 
be  conveyed  from  place  to  place,  and  to  be 
sumptuously  boarded  and  lodged  at  other  peo- 
ple's expense?  Don't  you  know  that  whenever 
they  make  a  descent  they  expect  that  the 
plans  of  pastor  and  people,  and  often  the  regu- 
lar religious  services,  must  lie  dormant  while 
they  ride  their  hobby  unasked  ?  And  don't 
you  know  that  they  expect  a  liberal  remunera- 
tion for  their  services  ?  " 

"  Why,  Emily,  how  hot  you  are  !  It  is  too 
bad  to  grudge  them  the  necessaries  of  life, 
when,  as  I've  often  heard,  they  spend  their 
time  and  strength  to  advance  the  great  inter- 
ests of  society." 

"  They  remind  me  of  a  strolling  exhorter  in 
Connecticut,  who  complained  piteously  that  he 
had  gone  about  doing  good  till  every  body 
hated  him  !" 

Ah  !  Emily,  Emily ! " 

"  Please  do  not  frown  and  shake  your  head, 


142  Natural  History. 

aunty.  Let  me  give  you  a  little  of  my  experi- 
ence, and  see  if  you  have  then  a  heart  to  scold 
me.  We  had  been  married  and  keeping  house 
about  six  weeks,  when  the  first  strolling  claim- 
ant upon  our  bounty  and  services  appeared. 
He  was  a  reformed  inebriate,  and  had  come 
from  a  neighboring  State  to  enlighten  us.  No 
temperance  society  authorized  him  —  nothing 
but  pure  benevolence.  The  Washington ian 
fever  was  then  at  its  height,  and  our  townsmen 
participated  in  the  excitement.  So  George, 
being  inexperienced  in  such  matters,  gave  him 
leave  to  lecture  in  his  pulpit.  He  was  so  poorly 
dressed  that  we  were  ashamed  of  him,  and  to 
make  him  presentable  taxed  the  limited  ward- 
robe of  George  rather  heavily.  As  we  walked  to 
the  lecture  we  indulged — at  least  I  did — in  many 
forebodings,  and  the  crowded  house  only  served 
to  strengthen  them.  He  opened  his  theme 
very  well  indeed,  and  told  in  pathetic  language 
of  the  ruin  and  sorrow  that  his  love  for  rum 
had  occasioned,  and  I  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief  as  I  noticed  the  interest  of  the  audience. 
But  very  soon  he  began  to  detail  minutely  the 
particulars  of  each  drunken  carouse,  using  the 
vile  bar-room  language  to  express  his  thoughts. 


Natural  History.  143 

Presently  a  powerful  oath  slipped  out,  and  then 
another,  and  I  with  several  other  ladies  rose 
and  left  the  house.  George  stayed  behind  ;  but 
the  audience  began  to  be  restless,  and  finally 
groaned  and  hissed  the  speaker  down.  Now, 
aunt,  after  all  this  public  mortification  I  was 
obliged  to  receive  him  as  a  guest  for  the  night, 
and  to  serve  him  as  I  would  an  honored  friend, 
because  ministers  are  expected  to  be  examples 
of  hospitality." 

"  It  was  very  trying,  my  dear,  I  have  no 
doubt.  But  such  things  do  not  often  occur." 

"  Oftener  than  you  suppose.  We  have  more 
or  less  of  these  annoyances  to  fear  every  year." 

"  Are  you  never  paid  for  the  trouble  and  ex- 
pense of  their  stay  with  you?" 

"  Paid  !  Who  do  you  suppose  pays  us  ?  Very 
often  we  are  not  thanked  even  ;  and  once,  a 
lecturer  who  had  stopped  with  us  a  few  days  to 
recruit  his  strength  and  bring  up  his  corre- 
spondence— using,  by  the  way,  my  writing-desk 
and  its  contents,  including  postage  stamps — 
told  me  the  morning  he  left  that  my  cooking 
was  more  suited  to  hogs  than  to  the  human 
race !  Paid,  indeed !  At  such  times  I  am  like 
the  head-waiter  at  a  hotel,  with  this  difference — 


144  Natural  History. 

he  gets  wages,  I  do  not.     What  are  you  laugh- 
ing at,  Aunt  Phebe?" 

"At  your  warmth  of  expression,  I  think. 
What  was  your  next  experience  ? " 

"Very  much  like  the  first,  excepting  the 
public  shame.  It  would  take  a  great  while  to 
particularize  every  case.  I  think  that  the  good 
lady  who  was  trying  so  earnestly  last  summer 
to  dive  into  the  design  of  Providence  in  creating 
fleas,  mosquitoes,  and  bed-bugs,  would  confer  a 
favor  on  science  in  general  if  she  would  extend 
her  investigations  till  she  ascertains  for  what 
purpose  these  strolling  orators  were  invented." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Emily,  you  are  going  too  far." 

"Wait  till  Igive  you  another  item  of  my  ex- 
perience before  you  judge.  It  was  Monday 
morning,  not  a  year  ago,  and  in  common  with 
other  people  we  were  washing  and  otherwise 
tidying  matters  about  the  house.  Our  work 
progressed  encouragingly ;  and  George  having 
consented  to  a  cold  lunch  instead  of  a  dinner, 
we  began,  at  eleven  o'clock,  to  get  very  encour- 
aging glimpses  of  the  end  of  the  necessary  dis- 
order, and  of  the  consequent  leisure  for  rest.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  an  agent  for  some  benev- 
olent object,  not  connected  with  our  Church 


Natural  History.  145 

but  under  the  control  of  his  own,  had  passed 
the  Sabbath  with  us,  and  presented  the  claims 
of  the  society  to  our  people,  and  his  own  claim 
upon  our  hospitality  to  us.  Jessie,  our  hired 
girl,  had  just  been  expressing  the  satisfaction 
she  had  felt  in  his  departure,  or,  as  she  phrased 
it,  in  'seeing  the  back  seam  o'  his  stockings,' 
and  I  was  dusting  the  parlor,  which  had  as 
usual  been  turned  out  of  doors,  when,  without 
ringing  the  bell,  or  even  rapping,  in  walked  a 
tall,  gaunt,  threadbare  specimen  of  humanity, 
and  unasked  took  off  his  hat  and  overcoat  and 
placed  them  on  the  hat-tree.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded leisurely  to  seat  himself  in  my  best 
rocking-chair.  I  stood  still  a  moment,  duster 
in  hand,  mute  with  astonishment.  Was  /  at 
home,  or  was  he?  •  He  soon  commenced  a  rapid 
introduction  of  himself  and  his  mission.  He 
was  a  lecturer,  and  his  mission  was  to  annihilate 
choir  singing  in  churches,  and  to  put  musical 
instruments  out  of  existence.  He  was  not  mer- 
cenary. His  labors  were  all  gratuitous,  given 
freely  out  of  love  for  the  cause.  He  only  re- 
quired in  turn  that  his  few  wants  should  be 
supplied,  and  such  collections  taken  after  his 
lectures  as  would  secure  him  from  need  and 


146  Natural  History* 

keep  his  mind  free  from  care.  More  than  this 
he  had  never  asked  during  thirty  long  years 
that  he  had  spent,  like  one  of  old,  in  '  going  up 
and  down  the  earth,  and  walking  to  and  fro  in 
:.t.'  He  did  not  now  propose  to  lecture,  some 
future  time  must  do  for  that,  for  he  had  ex- 
hausted himself  in  the  work  of  his  mission, 
and  his  poor  old  bones  needed  rest.  He  had 
suffered  much  from  the  world  in  general  and 
from  clergymen  in  particular.  They  had  not 
always  appreciated  him.  Their  wives — here  he 
gave  me  a  searching  glance — had  not  always 
rendered  him  the  attentions  that  his  feeble  age 
required. 

"  George  now  came  in,  and  I  descended  to  the 
kitchen  to  confer  with  Jessie  about  the  dinner. 
I  caught  her  listening  at  the-  back  parlor  door. 
She  had  heard  the  old  man's  harangue,  and  her 
face  was  a  study  then.  I  couldn't  reprove  her 
for  eaves-dropping,  for  I  rightly  conjectured  that 
her  motive  had  been  to  ascertain  the  probability 
of  having  to  cook  a  dinner. 

" '  Can  you  go  to  the  market,  Jessie  ?' 
" '  The  market,  indade !     An  me  in  the  suds  ! 
An  it's  the  cold  baked  baans,  shure,  that's  good 
for  the  like  o'  him.' 


Natural  History.  147 

" '  I  am  afraid  he  is  particular.  He  says  he 
is  ill,  Jessie.' 

" '  Shure  for  ye !  An  its  mate  that's  too 
hearty  for  the  wake  stomach.  He's  wantin' 
some  wather  broth,  misthress.  O,  darlin',  lave 
the  dinner  to  me  !' 

"'  Do  you  think  you  can  manage  it  ?' 

" '  Intirely.' 

"  Pleased  by  her  confident  manner,  I  returned 
to  assist  George  in  the  entertainment  of  our 
guest.  He  was  extremely  talkative,  and  now 
that  I  had  leisure  to  observe  him  I  thought 
him  very  disagreeable.  No  matter  what  theme 
George  happened  to  introduce,  he  invariably 
talked  of  himself  and  his  lectures.  Cicero  him- 
self never  had  so  high  an  opinion  of  his  own 
oratory. 

"  He  soon  let  us  know  that  he  had  an  espe- 
cial antipathy  to  children,  and  to  the  children  of 
clergymen  in  particular.  He  had  been  in  many 
ministers'  families,  he  told  us,  sometimes  for 
weeks  at  a  time,  and  he  had  been  uniformly  dis- 
gusted with  the  children.  He  began  to  specify 
cases,  some  of  them  among  our  acquaintances, 
and  was  just  expressing  a  charitable  hope  that 
our  house  at  least  was  free  from  the  nuisance, 


148  Natural  History, 

when  our  noisy  boys,  just  let  loose  from  school, 
came  laughing  and  clattering  up  the  stairs. 
They  hushed  their  voices  instantly  on  seeing  a 
stranger,  but  went  directly  to  him  and  offered 
to  shake  hands.  He  pushed  his  chair  back 
suddenly  as  far  as  he  could. 

" '  Go  away ! '  he  said  sternly  ;  '  I  don't  like 
noisy  children.' 

"  Fred  and  Clarence  shrunk  out  of  the  room 
quite  abashed  and  silent ;  but  a  twinkle  of 
mirth  in  the  provoked  expression  of  Fred's  eye 
showed  that  they  required  no  condolence;  so  I 
remained  in  the  room.  Just  then  I  saw  Jessie 
go  through  the  sitting-room. 

" '  You  may  put  plates  on  the  table  for  six/  I 
called  to  her ;  '  it  will  make  your  work  lighter 
•  if  you  and  the  children  dine  with  us.' 

"  George  nearly  laughed  out  at  what  he  after- 
ward called  my  spicy  spite. 

"  At  the  table  our  guest  took  it  upon  himself 
to  correct  the  boys'  behavior.  I  confess  that  I 
never  before  saw  them  behave  so  awkwardly. 
They  made  blunder  after  blunder.  The  un- 
wonted sense  of  being  watched  by  censorious 
eyes  took  all  the  ease  and  natural  grace  that 
they  possessed  from  their  manners,  and  Fred,  I 


Nattiral  History.  149 

think,  was  several  times  purposely  boorish.  He 
overset  a  large  pitcher  of  water,  plentifully 
showering  Jessie's  'coold  baans,'  and  nearly 
drowning  the  pudding.  George  took  no  notice, 
and  Jessie  was  evidently  delighted. 

" '  Niver  you  mind,'  she  said,  reaching  across 
the  table  to  assist  them  ;  '  here's  the  nice  bread 
and  butter  for  ye.  Help  yerselves,  darlin's.' 

" '  Mr.  Howard,'  said  the  lecturer  a  moment 
later,  '  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  the  table  if 
that  boy  is  allowed  to  lick  his  knife  and  then 
put  it  into  the  butter.' 

" '  Use  the  butter-knife,  Frederick/  said 
George,  without  looking  up. 

"  It  will  be  needless  to  tell  you  any  thing 
more  about  that  meal,  or  the  succeeding  ones  ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  by  the  time  our  visitor 
had  got  thoroughly  recruited,  our  boys  had  be- 
come so  disorderly  that  they  might  well  have 
furnished  him  with  a  new  and  not  very  flatter- 
ing story  to  relate  at  his  next  halting-place. 

"  He  has  visited  us  once  since  that  time;  but 
I  hardly  think  he  will  come  again  ;  for,  knowing 
the  sort  of  person  I  had  to  deal  with,  I  treated 
him  with  such  freezing  civility  as  made  him 
rather  uncomfortable,  and  he  only  remained  two 


1 50  Natural  History. 

days  with  us.  I  hope,  at  any  rate  that  we  have 
seen  the  last  of  him.  Now,  Aunt  Phebe,  what 
right  has  he  to  stroll  around  the  country  and 
sponge  his  living  out  of  clergymen,  and  people 
generally  ? " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  he  is  an  old  man." 

"  He  did  it  when  he  was  young,  aunt ;  he  has 
spent  the  prime  of  life  in  this  manner,  and  re- 
paid kindness  with  abuse.  There  are  young 
men  too  that  get  their  living  in  the  same  busi- 
ness. The  cool  impertinence  with  which  they 
present  themselves,  and  make  their  exorbitant 
demands  upon  our  time  and  money,  is  the  most 
vexatious  of  all.  Of  course  we  cannot  bear  to 
turn  a  person  directly  out  of  doors.  And  if 
George  does  not  heartily  co-operate  with  them 
in  their  designs,  he  is  misrepresented  and  abused 
as  if  he  were  opposed  to  all  that  is  good." 

"All  lecturers  do  not  surely  belong  to  this 
class,  Emily." 

"  No  ;  O  no !  But  the  respectable  lecturer 
does  not  intrude  his  services  unasked.  We 
know  the  difference  very  well." 

"  The  whole  class  should  not  be  condemned 
for  the  sins  of  a  few.  We  must  have  charity, 
Emilv." 


Natural  History.  151 

Good  Aunt  Phebe  was  a  peacemaker  in  the 
best  sense  ;  she  couldn't  bear  to  think  evil  of 
any  one. 

"  I  am  only  speaking  of  cases  where  charity 
is  out  of  the  question.  Do  you  remember  that 
shabbily  dressed  colored  man  who  came  to  our 
house  last  week?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  is  a  lecturer  upon  the  subject  of  slavery, 
of  the  Garrison  school,  I  believe.  George  gave 
him  a  good  coat  and  a  pair  of  boots  ;  but  he 
couldn't  in  conscience  introduce  him  into  his 
pulpit,  and  allow  him  to  rail  in  public  at  all  who 
believe  in  the  rights  of  the  white  man  as  well 
as  in  those  of  the  slave.  So  he  became  angry ; 
and  yesterday  he  went  from  house  to  house  in 
our  parish,  wearing  the  coat  and  boots,  and  try- 
ing to  raise  a  breeze  against  the  minister.  Now, 
you  know,  aunt,  that  George  is  a  thorough-going 
antislavery  man." 

"  It  is  too  bad,  I  will  own  ;  but  you  know, 
my  dear,  that  no  one  will  be  prejudiced  by  him. 
Besides,  the  poor  fellow  iswery  ignorant,  and 
probably  attributes  Mr.  Howard's  refusal  to  his 
color." 

"Very  likely.     But  when  you  came  in,  aunt, 


1 52  Ntitural  History. 

you  spoke  of  a  lady  who  is  lecturing  in  Snovton. 
She  is  not  unknown  to  me.  I  met  her  in  Rhode 
Island  two  years  ago,  at  the  house  of  a  friend. 
I  will  tell  you  how  it  happened.  She  came 
I  here,  unexpectedly,  to  lecture.  Mr.  Ellington, 
who  is  my  friend's  husband,  is  a  clergyman. 
He  had  several  times  heard  of  the  intention  of 
some  lecturesses  to  honor  him  with  a  visit,  and 
had  sent  short  but  decisive  notes  to  them  de- 
clining the  honor.  He  had  even  hinted  to  par- 
ticular friends  his  resolution  to  turn  those 
strolling  oratoresses  from  his  door  if  they  pre- 
sumed to  come  without  consulting  his  wishes. 
But  on  that  particular  Saturday  was  the  great 
March  gale  of  1854.  Many  buildings  in  the 
neighborhood  were  blown  down,  and  the  rail- 
way station-house  was  unroofed.  In  the  midst 
of  it  all  we  saw  a  lady  struggling  with  the  wind 
in  her  endeavors  to  reach  our  door.  Of  course 
the  door  was  thrown  open  and  she  was  assisted 
to  enter  ;  but' what  was  the  consternation  of  our 
friend  when  she  introduced  herself  as  a  temper- 
ance lecturess.  She  proposed  giving  a  course 
of  lectures  if  suitable  encouragement  were  of- 
fered, and  had  intended  to  hive  commenced 
operations  that  very  night,  but  had  been  so 


Natural  History.  153 

delayed  by  the  gale  that  she  had  decided  to  defer 
it  till  Sunday  evening.  Mr.  Ellington  listened 
in  silence  ;  and  when  she  at  last  paused  to  take 
breath,  he  coolly  directed  her  to  apply  to  the 
trustees  of  the  church  for  liberty  to  use  it. 

" '  I  wish  to  make  an  engagement  with  you,  sir. 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  trustees  of  the 
house.  You  can,  of  course,  arrange  such  mat- 
ters with  them.  I  think  very  few  trustees  would 
object  to  any  use  of  the  church  that  was  ap- 
proved by  their  pastor.' 

" '  But  I  do  not  approve  of  your  lecturing.' 
"  She  was  not  unprepared  for  this,  and  I  saw 
by  a  sidelong  glance  that  she  gave  him  that  she 
was  aware  of  his  opinions  upon  the  subject  of 
feminine  decorum  and  modesty,  and  also  that 
she  was  determined  to  carry  her  point. 

" '  I  have  a  variety  of  testimonials  written  by 
clergymen,  some  of  them  particularly  recom- 
mending me  to  you,  sir  ;  I  shall  be  obliged  if 
you  will  look  them  over.' 

"  '  It  is  wholly  unnecessary,  madam ' 
" '  Here  are  notices  of  the  press,'  she  contin- 
ued, producing  from  her  reticule  a  number  of 
little  slips,  cut  from  newspapers,  extolling  her 
merits  ns  a  speaker,  and  describing  the  crowds 


1 54  Natural  History. 

who  had  listened  entranced  to  her  persuasive 
eloquence. 

" '  Here  is  proof,  if  you  require  it,  of  my 
ability  to  speak.' 

"'I  have  expressed  no  doubt  on  that  subject, 

•    I  believe,'  he  replied  ;  '  the  propriety  of  your  so 

publicly  exercising  your  talent  is  what  I  consider 

questionable.     I  can  give  you  no  assistance  in 

the  matter.' 

"  '  But  if  I  see  your  trustees,'  she  said,  '  and 
they  do  not  object,  you  will  at  least  introduce 
me  to  the  audience  ? ' 

" '  Mr.  Ellington  hesitated  ;  but  feeling  sure 
that  the  good  sense  of  his  brethren  would  ex- 
clude her  from  his  pulpit,  and  being  desirous  to 
end  the  matter  as  courteously  as  possible,  he 
replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  All  this  time  she  had  been  awaiting  an  in- 
vitation to  remain  as  a  guest  in  the  family  dur- 
ing her  stay  in  the  place.  She  threw  out  various 
hints  to  that  effect,  none  of  which  were  noticed  ; 
but  the  increasing  severity  of  the  gale  accom- 
plished what  all  her  management  was  unequal 
to.  So  an  invitation  to  tea  was  at  length  given, 
not  very  cordially,  perhaps,  for  the  experience 
of  my  friends  had  long  before  taught  them,  that 


Natural  History.  155 

when  once  the  professed  stroller's  hat  and  cloak 
are  off,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  when  they  will  be 
resumed." 

"  Did  she  stay ;  and  pray,  did  she  lecture 
after  all  ? " 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Phebe,  she  stayed  and  she  lec- 
tured. She  obtained  the  consent  of  the  trust- 
ees, and  poor  Mr.  Ellington  introduced  her  to 
the  audience." 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  is  she,  Emily  ?  At- 
tractive ? " 

"  Quite  the  reverse.  She  has  a  low,  narrow 
forehead,  with  very  abundant  yellow  hair.  She 
has  lost  her  front  teeth,  and  squints  fearfully." 

"  How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  Forty-two." 

"  Married,  or  single  ? " 

"  A  widow  with  seven  children." 

"  Goodness !     Who  supports  them  ?  " 

"She  gets  large  collections  wherever  she 
goes.  The  novelty  of  public  female  eloquence 
helps  her,  and  then  she  tells  a  really  pitiful 
story.  Lecturing  was  her  only  resource,  she 
said,  for  she  had  always  disliked  manual  labor. 
'You  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Howard/  she  said 

to  me.  '  that  when  a  person  thoroughly  dislikes 
11 


1 56  Natural  History. 

any  occupation,  it  is  not  likely  to  prove  re- 
munerative.' 

" '  But  a  more  womanly  occupation  would  be 
less  perplexing/  I  replied.  '  It  would  at  least 
save  you  from  many  a  cool  reception  in  families 
upon  whose  hospitality  you  have  no  claim.' " 

" '  O  !  we  do  not  mind  such  things  in  the  least. 
We  know  them  to  be  incident  to  our  profession, 
and  take  them  easily.  Habit  does  a  great  deal, 
and  unflinching  firmness  is  a  great  leveler  of 
obstacles.'  The  indifferent  air  with  which  she 
said  this  cannot  be  described." 

"  How  did  Mr.  Ellington  take  all  this  ? " 

"  He  was  greatly  perplexed  ;  not,  however,  by 
the  disagreeable  necessity  of  entertaining  her, 
but  by  the  prospect  of  her  lecturing.  She  was 
both  dirty  and  shabby.  Her  whole  appearance 
was  so  much  against  her  as  to  wholly  destroy 
his  faith  in  the  newspaper  accounts  of  her  elo- 
quence. I  think  he  believed  that  she  wrote 
those  puffs  herself." 

"  Well,  she  lectured." 

"  Yes.  We  kept  her  from  church  during  the 
day,  and  having  over  night  mended  and  brushed 
her  apparel,  we  washed  her  ourselves  in  strong 
soap-suds,  and  dressed  her  hair,  so  that  in  the 


Natural  History.  157 

evening  she  looked  more  presentable.  Besides, 
Mr.  Ellington  managed  to  have  her  stand  in 
the  altar,  where  the  light  did  not  fall  directly 
upon  her,  to  the  manifest  discomfiture  of  some 
gentlemen  near  me,  who  tried  in  vain  to  find 
out  if  she  were  beautiful." 

"  But  the  lecture,  Emily." 

"  Yes,  it  was  very  good  indeed,  and  was  mem- 
orized perfectly.  Those  who  had  not  been  be- 
hind the  scenes  pronounced  her  a  talented 
woman,  and  many  shed  tears  as  she  portrayed 
the  domestic  trials  she  had  experienced.  The 
collection  was  a  liberal  one,  and  the  whole  affair 
passed  off  admirably." 

"  Were  the  lectures  her  own  ?  " 

"  No.  She  let  me  into  some  of  the  secrets 
of  the  trade.  She  had  been  trained  to  declaim 
them.  '  Ah  ! '  said  a  good  old  lady  to  me  at  the 
close  of  that  lecture,  '  she  feels  every  word  she 
says.'  She  should  have  heard  her,  after  our 
return  home,  when  she  declared  that  she  was 
heartily  sick  of  her  theme,  and  was  only  wait- 
ing to  get  round  once  more,  to  commence  the 
advocacy  of  women's  rights  My  dear  aunt,  I 
have  not  selected  the  most  trying  or  the  most 
ridiculous  of  our  experiences  in  this  line.  S:> 


153  Natural  History. 

long  as  good  kind  souls  like  yourself  cheerfully 
hold  open  their  purses  for  their  benefit,  so  long 
will  those  unauthorized  speech-makers  go  prowl- 
ing about,  and  so  long  shall  we  be  annoyed  by 
their  intrusion  into  our  houses.  And  till  cler- 
gymen peril  their  reputation  for  hospitality  by 
turning  them  out  of  doors,  we  may  be  sure  that 
they  will  assert  a  heavy  claim  upon  the  minis- 
terial larder.  From  such  '  squatter  sovereignty,' 
good  Lord,  deliver  us  1 " 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.     1 59 


"  PROVOKING  ONE  ANOTHER  TO 
LOVE  AND  GOOD  WORKS." 


HE  was  eighty  years  old.  She  sat  by  the 
only  window  that  lighted  her  small  room, 
and  watched  the  last  short  sunset  of  the 
old  year.  A  heavy  fall  of  snow  covered  the 
ground  and  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  white- 
ened  the  pine  forest  on  the  other  side  of  the 
miniature  lake.  All  night  and  all  day  it  had 
been  snowing  steadily,  but  at  last  the  sky  looked 
out  blue  and  clear  just  in  time  to  let  the  sinking 
sun  once  more  brighten  the  face  of  the  depart- 
ing year. 

Here  and  there  were  seen  stout  men  and 
frolicksome  boys  shoveling  the  snow  from  the 
paths  about  their  homes,  or  making  a  way  for 
the  thirsty  cattle  to  some  adjacent  spring.  But 
the  old  lady  scarcely  noticed  these  renewed 
signs  of  life.  Her  thoughts  were  with  the  past, 
away  back  to  those  happy  New  Years'  eves 
when  she  was  a  careless  child,  and  only  thought 


1 60     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

of  the  toys  and  pleasures  of  the  holidays.  Sev- 
enty years  is  a  long  time  to  look  back ;  but  she 
well  remembered  the  coral  necklace  clasped  with 
gold,  that  her  father  had  placed  upon  her  neck 
on  the  morning  of  her  tenth  New-Year's  day  ! 
She  was  married  on  New-Year's  eve.  Sixty- 
two  years  ago  she  came,  a  fair  young  wife,  to  be 
the  mistress  of  the  large  gray-stone  house  now 
falling  to  decay  on  that  gentle  eminence  at  the 
south.  In  the  summer  it  is  hidden  by  the  trees, 
but  we  can  see  it  now  that  the  willows  and 
birches  have  lost  their  foliage.  Fair  sons  and 
daughters  grew  up  around  her,  till  eleven  youth- 
ful faces  smiled  around  the  hearth,  and  the 
music  of  childish  voices  filled  the  wide  rooms. 
But  only  one  of  all  the  household  band  lived 
to  be  twenty  years  old.  Whether  the  fatal 
family  malady,  consumption,  spared  this  one 
was  never  known,  for  she  was  thrown  from  a 
carriage  and  killed  while  riding  with  her  father, 
who  was  driving  a  young  horse  not  accustomed 
to  the  harness.  All  the  rest  sickened  and  died, 
one  after  another,  just  as  life  spread  its  bright- 
est prospects  before  them.  Fair,  beautiful  blos- 
soms they  were,  but  too  delicate  for  their  loveli- 
ness to  endure. 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.     161 

It  was  a  sad  change  in  the  great  house  when 
those  clear  young  voices  were  hushed  forever. 
The  old  lady  shuddered  as  she  remembered  the 
deserted  rooms  and  the  desolate  winding  paths 
among  the  shrubbery  outside.  Still  her  husband 
was  spared,  and  for  a  few  years  they  mourned 
together  and  sustained  each  other.  But  at  last 
she  was  left  alone.  How  well  she  could  recall 
those  first  hours  of  anguish  when  she  saw  in  her 
husband's  diminished  strength  and  hollow  cough 
the  sure  .presage  of  his  coming  doom  !  The 
unnaturally  bright  eye  had  a  fearful  meaning 
for  her  as  she  met  his  gaze.  There  was  no  skill 
to  stay  the  progress  of  the  destroyer,  and  the 
sad  end  soon  came. 

Poverty  came  also.  The  splendid  family  prop- 
erty passed  at  his  death  into  the  hands  of  a  dis- 
tant connection,  and  but  a  mere  pittance,  raised 
from  the  sale  of  furniture  and  other  valuables, 
remained  for  the  bereaved  widow. 

In  all  their  trouble  they  had  never  sought 
after  God.  He  was  not  in  all  their  thoughts.  So 
far  as  it  was  possible  they  forgot  him  entirely, 
and  when  his  chastening  hand  was  laid  upon 
them  they  rebelled  and  murmured,  and  seemed 
by  their  continued  carelessness  and  worldliness 


1 62      Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

to  defy  his  power.  I  remember,  as  if  it  were 
but  yesterday,  seeing  the  two  youngest  daugh- 
ters, less  than  a  year  before  they  died,  enter  their 
richly-cushioned  pew  in  the  church  attired  in 
deep  mourning,  but  with  mocking  smiles  upon 
their  lips.  There  were  tears  in  many  eyes  that 
saw  them,  for  with  the  memory  of  the  fair  faces 
forever  gone  from  that  pew  still  fresh  in  their 
hearts,  it  was  not  difficult  to  recognize  the 
fatal  beauty  of  the  hectic  flush  on  each  delicate 
cheek. 

There  were  two  young  men  in  the  pew  with 
them,  and  they  smiled  and  chatted  together, 
wholly  unmindful  of  the  sacred  services  of  the 
house  of  God.  It  was  not  till  the  preacher, 
unable  to  pursue  his  solemn  theme  with  such  a 
spectacle  of  irreverent  mirth  before  him,  severely 
reproved  them,  that  they  seemed  to  be  aware 
that  any  deference  was  expected  from  them.  It 
was  the  last  time  they  came  to  church.  Laura 
died  in  the  autumn,  and  Annie,  unable  to  endure 
the  solitude  of  home,  went  to  spend  the  winter 
amid  the  gayeties  of  the  city.  In  May  she  was 
brought  home  in  her  coffin  to  be  buried.  She 
had  ruptured  a  blood-vessel  while  dancing  at  a 
ball,  and  lived  but  four  hours  afterward.  Even 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      163 

in  those  last  fearful  hours  vanity  triumphed,  and 
all  her  remaining  strength  was  spent  in  directing 
how  her  body  should  be  attired  for  the  grave. 

I  remember  very  well  how  she  looked  in  the 
rich  open  coffin,  which  was  lined,  as  she  had 
ordered,  with  crimson  satin.  Her  own  dress 
was  white  satin,  richly  trimmed  with  lace,  and 
cut  low  in  the  neck.  There  were  pearls  on  her 
arms  and  neck,  white  flowers  were  wreathed  in 
her  curls,  and  her  cheeks  and  lips  were  painted  ; 
but  no  art  could  restore  the  sunken,  half-open 
eyes,  or  soften  the  rigidity  of  the  features. 
Death,  unsightly  death,  was  there,  made  ten- 
fold more  repulsive  by  the  efforts  to  disguise  its 
presence. 

But  memory  brings  fairer  pictures  to  the 
old  lady  as  she  sits  by  the  window  now  that 
the  shadows  of  night  creep  into  the  little  room. 
She  is  poor  and  decrepit  with  age,  but  she  thinks 
of  the  time — it  is  twenty  years  ago  now — when, 
humbled  by  long  suffering,  she  kneeled  in  that 
same  room  and  found  Jesus  Christ  at  last  to 
be  "  the  chiefest  among  ten  thousand,  the  one 
altogether  lovely." 

For  twenty  years  her  soul  has  been  at  rest, 
and  the  peace  of  God  has  filled  her  heart,  and 


164      Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

it  is  a  look  of  joyous  trust  and  love  that  she 
raises  to  the  evening  sky  as  she  says,  "  It  is 
true  that  I  have  now  no  earthly  means  of  sup- 
port ;  I  have  fuel  and  food  for  a  day  only  ; 
but  God  is  my  refuge  and  strength,  and  not  a 
sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground  without  his 
knowledge." 

Go  down  the  street  a  few  rods,  then  a  short 
turn  to  the  right,  and  at  the  end  of  a  narrow 
lane  you  will  see  a  low,  brown  cottage.  A  man 
and  a  boy  of  twelve  years  are  busily  clearing 
away  the  snow  in  front  of  the  door,  and  a  fat- 
faced  little  girl  is  watching  them  from  the  win- 
dow. As  the  red  tints  of  the  sunset  deepen, 
she  turns  quickly  to  a  pleasant-looking  woman 
who  is  sewing  by  the  fire. 

"  One  night  more,  mamma,  and  then — " 

"  Well,  what  then,  child  ? " 

"  It  will  be  New- Year's  day,  mamma.  O, 
aint  you  glad  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  I  am  very,  very  glad,  mamma ;  and  so  is 
Benny." 

"  Glad  of  what  ? "  asked  her  father,  now  com- 
ing in  and  sitting  down  by  the  fire — "  glad  of 
what,  Nelly  ?  " 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      165 

"  Why,  it's  New- Year's  day  to-morrow.  Don't 
you  know,  papa  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  know  so  much.  But  what  is  it  to 
you,  pet,  more  than  any  other  day  ?  " 

"  Ask  mamma.  She  knows,  and  so  does 
Benny." 

"  And  so  does  papa,"  said  her  mother,  hold- 
ing up  her  work  just  completed  for  his  inspec- 
tion. It  was  a  cloak  for  herself  that  had  al- 
ready been  worn  four  winters,  but  now,  turned 
and  refitted  by  her  skillful  fingers,  and  bright- 
ened by  a  little  new  trimming,  could  scarcely 
be  recognized. 

"  Well,  John,  how  does  it  look  ? " 

"  Very  well,"  he  slowly  answered.  "  Not  just 
like  a  new  one,  though." 

"  But  very  nice  and  comfortable  for  all  that. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  And  so  the  money  that  you  have  saved  for  a 
new  one  is  really  going  to  buy  Madam  Bretton's 
winter  fuel." 

"  So  we  agreed,  John,  if  I  could  make  this  one 
do.  See  how  nicely  it  fits  across  the  shoulders  ! 
And  the  trimming  matches  it  exactly." 

"  But  ten  dollars,  Ellen,  is  a  large  sum  for  us 
to  give  away.  A  great  many  comforts  could  be 


1 66     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

bought  for  ten  dollars.  You  need  new  dresses  ; 
and  this  shell  of  a  house,  which  is  a  hovel 
compared  to  that  where  the  old  lady  lives,  needs 
a  great  deal  done  to  it.  Besides,  there  is  Ben- 
ny's jacket  already  looking  threadbare  at  the 
elbows — " 

"  Don't,  John,  don't  talk  in  that  way.  If  I 
had  spent  the  money  for  a  cloak  it  would  have 
bought  nothing  else,  and  surely  all  the  luxuries 
in  the  world  would  not  make  us  happy  if  we 
knew  that  madam  was  suffering." 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  would  suffer.  The 
town  would  see  to  that." 

"  Do  you  remember,  John,"  said  his  wife  as 
she  turned  away  to  hide  the  starting  tears — "  do 
you  remember  when  she  nursed  me  through 
that  dreadful  fever  when  Benny  was  a  baby  ? 
Not  a  neighbor  dared  to  enter  the  house,  and 
you  were  quite  worn  out  with  waiting  on  me. 
She  did  not  wait  to  think  of  contagion,  but 
all  through  those  miserable  weeks  she  was  an 
angel  of  mercy  to  us  all.  O,  John,  what  is  ten 
dollars  compared — " 

"  There,  there,  Ellen,  don't  say  another  word. 
She  is  welcome  to  the  money  a  thousand  times. 
I  only  felt  a  little  worried  and  poor,  because 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      167 

when  the  rent  is  paid  to-morrow  there  will  be 
little  left  to  make  the  house  tight  and  comfort- 
able for  you  and  the  children.' 

"  We  shall  manage  to  get  along  somehow," 
returned  Ellen,  cheerily.  "  Never  fear  for  that. 
We  have  good  health  now,  plenty  of  work,  and 
no  debts.  That  is  what  I  call  being  rich.  Then, 
only  think,  we've  a  whole  pig  salted  in  the  cel- 
lar, and  such  a  heap  of  delicious  potatoes — real 
Dovers.  Why,  the  Queen  of  England  never 
tasted  better  ones.  Then  there's  our  wood  for 
winter  all  cut  and  stowed  away.  We  can  snap 
our  fingers  at  want.  Poverty  may  look  in  at 
the  door  if  he  likes,  but  he  can't  come  in." 

The  cloud  of  care  passed  from  the  husband's 
brow,  and  he  smiled  as  he  patted  Nelly's  red 
cheek. 

"We'll  caulk  the  doors  and  windows,  John, 
and  paper  the  cracks  in  the  walls  till  old  winter 
is  quite  shut  out.  Bless  me  !  what  a  merry  tune 
that  tea-kettle  is  singing  !  See  if  you  can  beat 
it,  Nelly,  while  you  help  me  set  the  table. 
Listen!  It  sounds  like  sleigh-bells.  Ting  a 
ling,  ling." 

"  It  says,  '  A  happy  new  year ! '  mamma,"  said 
the  child,  who  had  listened  intently. 


1 68      Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

"  It  says  that  to  you  no  doubt,  darling,  for 
you  can  think  of  nothing  else.  A  very  sensible 
wish,  too,  even  for  a  tea-kettle  to  utter,  and  I 
don't  know  who  is  more  likely  to  realize  it  than 
ourselves.  Steady  with  those  plates,  little  one. 
Now,  whose  merry  voice  will  call  brother  while 
I  toast  the  bread  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  perfect  sunbeam,  Ellen,"  said  her 
husband.  "  I  came  in  with  a  mountain  of  care 
and  anxiety  on  my  shoulders,  and  it  has  dis- 
appeared." 

"Is  it  quite  gone?" 

"  Yes.  Not  a  shadow  is  left.  I  can't  help 
often  wondering  at  you.  Your  burden  is  heavier 
than  mine,  for  these  little  irritating  housekeep- 
ing perplexities  do  not  fall  upon  me  at  all.  I 
believe  I  should  give  up  at  once  if  they  did,  but 
you  bear  up  as  cheerfully  as  if  we  were  secure 
against  misfortune.  You  are  always  hopeful, 
and  full  of  bright  anticipations.  You  are  a 
mystery,  Ellen." 

" '  Trust  in  the  Lord  and  do  good,  so  shalt 
thou  dwell  in  the  land,  and  verily  thou  shait 
be  fed.'  That  is  God's  word,  John,  and  I  be- 
lieve it." 

Early  in  the  morning  Benny  went  to  the  vll- 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      169 

lage  to  take  home  some  work  that  his  mother 
had  finished  the  previous  evening.  It  was  a 
pleasant  sight  to  watch  the  little  fellow  as  he 
made  his  way  through  the  snow.  He  whistled 
and  sung  by  turns ;  he  danced,  and  ran,  and 
whirled  round  on  one  foot,  and  laughed  aloud 
in  his  exquisite  enjoyment  of  the  frosty  air.  He 
looked  so  bright  and  rosy  when  he  at  last  de- 
livered his  bundle,  that  the  lady  of  the  house 
called  him  into  the  parlor  just  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  looking  at  him.  It  does  one  good 
to  see  a  face  so  full  of  sunshine. 

There  were  two  gentlemen  and  several  ladies 
in  the  room,  and  the  boy  tried  to  put  on  a 
sedate  look,  but  he  couldn't. 

"  This  snow  makes  fine  fun  for  you  lads,"  said 
one  of  the  gentlemen.  "  You  enjoy  it  pretty 
well,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  sir.  But—"  Benny's  bright,  dark 
eyes  glanced  round  at  the  strangers  present, 
and  he  hesitated. 

"  But  what,  my  boy  ?  Speak  out,  don't  be 
afraid." 

"Why,  it's  New- Year's  day.  I  wish  you  a 
happy  new  year,  sir." 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  the  other  gentleman,  coming 


170     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

forward,  laughing,  from  the  window.  "  You 
wish  me  the  same,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  And" — with  another  shy  glance 
at  the  ladies — "  and  every  body." 

"  Indeed.     And  how  much  is  it  to  cost  ?  " 

The  gentleman  rattled  some  loose  change  in 
his  pocket. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  replied 
Benny,  a  little  bewildered. 

"  Why,  you  expect  to  be  paid  for  your  good 
wishes,  don't  you  ? " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Benny,  emphatically,  "  I  do 
not.  Mamma  says,"  he  added  in  a  lofty  manner, 
"  that  good-will  is  not  bought  or  sold." 

"  Well  done.     Bravissimo  !  " 

"  Don't  tease  him,  Ned,"  said  the  other  gen- 
tleman. "  Come  here,  my  boy,  and  tell  me  what 
it  is  that  makes  this  such  a  great  and  happy  day 
for  you." 

Benny  had  often  seen  this  gentleman  in  his 
visits  to  the  house  with  his  mother's  work.  He 
had  seen  him  also  in  the  Sabbath-school,  where 
he  was  one  of  the  teachers.  His  kindly  manner 
and  pleasant  words  had  won  his  boyish  regard 
long  ago,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to  open  his 
whole  heart  to  him. 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      171 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  Madam  Bretton, 
who  lives  up  stairs  in  that  house  by  the  big 
pond  where  we  skate  in  the  evenings — we  boys, 
I  mean,"  Benny  explained  ;  "  and  we  build  a 
great  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  pond,  and  we 
skate  backward,  and  play  tag,  and  draw  the 
girls  on  our  sleds  like — like  every  thing." 

"  To  be  sure." 

Every  body  smiled  at  the  child's  enthusiasm. 

"  And  Madam  Bretton  comes  out  and  skates 
with  you,"  said  Ned. 

"  Don't  mind  his  teasing,  Benny,"  said  his 
friend,  almost  laughing  at  the  amazed  look  that 
spread  over  the  child's  face  at  the  bare  idea  of 
the  old  lady  on  skates.  "  I  have  seen  Madam 
Bretton.  She  lives  in  one  of  your  houses, 
Ned,  the  one  that  has  such  a  long,  sloping  roof. 
Have  you  forgotten  how  you  used  to  roll  peb- 
bles up  and  down  on  the  roof  on  purpose  to 
tease  her?  A  mere  boyish  freak,"  he  added 
kindly  as  he  saw  his  friend's  face  flush  at  the 
remembrance. 

"  But  inexcusable  even  in  a  boy,"  was  the 
reply.  "  I  have  felt  ashamed  of  such  boyish 
freaks,  and  wish  I  could  recall  them  many  a 

time   when    I    have   been    thousands  of  miles 
1-2 


1 72     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

away.  Is  Madam  Bretton  the  tenant  that  you 
mentioned  as  being  unable  to  pay  her  rent 
longer?" 

"  The  same." 

"You  said  she  would  probably  come  upon 
the  town." 

"  But  she  wont  go  to  the  town,  sir,"  inter- 
posed Benny  very  decidedly. 

"  She  wont  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  because  we  are  all  helping  her. 
I  was  going  to  tell  you.  That  is  why  it  is  so 
pleasant  and  bright  to-day,"  said  Benny,  look- 
ing out  to  assure  himself  that  the  sun  did  shine 
brighter  than  usual. 

The  gentlemen  both  cast  a  puzzled  and  rather 
unbelieving  look  over  the  boy's  patched  clothes  ; 
but  his  earnest  manner  had  greatly  excited  their 
curiosity. 

"  Suppose  you  tell  us  all  about  it,"  said  Ned. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see,  she  is  very  old,  eighty 
years  old,  mamma  says,  and  we  heard  last  week 
that  she  had  only  wood  enough  to  last  a  few 
days  and  very  little  to  eat.  It  made  us  all  feel 
very  bad,  for  you  don't  know  how  good  she 
always  was  to  every  body  when  she  was  strong. 
Mamma  had  sold  eggs  and  had  done  odd  jobs  at 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      173 

different  houses  till  she  had  earned  enough  to 
buy  a  new  cloak  for  herself,  besides  doing  as 
much  as  ever  for  all.  It  was  ten  dollars.  Do 
you  understand,  sir?  "  asked  Benny,  who  seemed 
to  think  his  auditors  were  not  so  much  im- 
pressed as  they  should  be  at  the  mention  of 
such  an  enormous  sum. 

"  Yes,  quite  well.     Go  on." 

"  I  saw  it  all  with  my  own  eyes,"  said  Benny. 
"  Ten  silver  dollars !  Well,  mamma  thought 
about  the  old  lady,  and  planned  and  contrived 
for  her,  but  nothing  came  of  it  till  a  day  or  two 
ago,  when  she  happened  to  think  that  she  could 
make  over  her  old  cloak  and  buy  wood  for 
Madam  Bretton  with  the  money.  And  she  did, 
sir,  and  it  is  a  real  beauty,  and  mamma  looked 
prettier  with  it  on  this  morning  than " — the 
boy  cast  a  shy,  curious  look  at  the  ladies,  who 
were  listening  with  breathless  interest — "  than 
any  lady  I  ever  saw." 

"What,  Benny,  prettier  than  Miss  Alice 
here  ? " 

"  O,  yes,  sir,  a  great  deal."  Benny's  manner 
was  quite  decided.  "  But  that  is  not  all,  Mr. 
Ned.  My  sister  Nellie  and  I  opened  our  sav- 
ings bank  this  morning,  and  we  have  bought 


1 74     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

some  tea,  and  sugar,  and  bread,  and  meat  enough 
to  last  the  old  lady  a  week.  O.  is  not  New- 
Year's  day  a  happy  day  ?  " 

The  boy's  artless  story  had  moistened  every 
eye  in  the  room  with  tears.  Even  Ned,  fun- 
loving  Ned,  just  returned  to  his'  native  town 
after  ten  years'  foreign  travel,  was  obliged  to 
turn  to  the  window  to  conceal  his  emotions. 

"So  you  see,"  said  Benny  in  conclusion, 
"  that  Madam  Bretton  wont  go  to  the  town." 

"  That  is  evident.  Well,  you  are  a  happy 
little  fellow.  Here  is  the  pay  for  your  mother's 
work,  and  a  dollar  for  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  get  butter  with  it  to 
put  in  the  basket  for  the  old  lady." 

They  all  stood  at  the  window  to  watch  the 
boy  as,  with  renewed  antics  and  whistling,  he 
retraced  his  path  toward  home. 

"  That  little  lad  and  his  parents  shame  us 
all,"  said  Ned  at  last. 

"  Not  if  their  example  provokes  us  to  love 
and  good  works,"  said  one  of  the  ladies.  "  Sup- 
pose we  make  up  a  sum  sufficient  to  buy 
'  mamma '  a  cloak.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Henry  ? " 

"  It  would    spoil  all,  in   my  opinion.     They 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      175 

have  made  a  sacrifice.  Let  them  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  doing  good.  But  we  can  assist  them 
in  making  the  old  lady  comfortable.  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Ned  ?  " 

"  Of  a  plan  that  just  occurred  to  me  like  an 
inspiration.  Hurrah  !  It's  just  the  thing  if,  as 
I  suspect,  the  lad's  parents  live  in  that  brown 
hut  up  the  lane  where  aunt  and  I  stopped  to 
leave  that  very  bundle  of  work  on  Monday." 

"That  is  the  place.  What  is  the  plan?" 
asked  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  A  secret,  Alice.  You  know,  coz,  that  such 
things  are  never  intrusted  to  the  care  of  your 
sex." 

The  clear,  cold  day  passed  on,  and  another 
sunset,  as  fair  as  the  last,  was  brightening  the 
western  sky.  Benny  had  fed  the  chickens,  as 
he  persisted  in  calling  the  matronly  hens  ;  he 
had  filled  the  wood-box  by  the  stove,  and 
brought  in  the  basket  of  kindling-wood  for 
morning ;  he  had  held  the  pincushion  while 
Nellie  undressed  her  big  rag  dolly,  and  was 
now  whistling  a  low  accompaniment  to  the 
lullaby  that  the  little  girl  was  singing  as  she 
rocked  the  said  dolly  to  sleep. 

His  father  had  not  yet  come  to  tea,  and  his 


1 76     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

mother  had  not  returned  from  Madam  Bretton's, 
where  she  had  been  all  the  afternoon.  Benny 
was  used  to  staying  with  his  sister,  and  never 
found  it  dull  work  to  amuse  her,  but  to-night  he 
did  wish  that  mamma  would  hurry  home.  He 
wanted  to  know  what  the  old  lady  thought  of 
her  New- Year's  gifts,  especially  the  eatables 
bought  with  the  money  he  and  Nelly  had  saved. 

"Tickled  half  to  death,  I'll  bet,"  said  he 
aloud  ;  "  and  I  don't  blame  her.  She  don't  get 
such  a  haul  every  day.  But  there  comes  papa, 
and  I  haven't  made  the  tea.  Well,  here  it  goes. 
A  good  strong  cup  for  New-Year's  day." 

"  No,  Benny,  make  it  just  as  usual." 

"  You  here,  mamma  ?  How  did  you  come  ? 
"  I  have  watched  an  hour  and  didn't  see  you. 
Did  the  old  lady  like  the  tea,  and  the  rolls,  and 
the  bacon,  and  the  butter,  and — " 

"  Stop,  stop,  my  son.  One  question  at  a 
time.  And,  first,  I  am  here.  Next,  I  walked 
down  the  street  as  usual.  Take  care,  Benny, 
you  will  drop  those  cups." 

"  Mamma,  what  did  she  say  of  the  wood  ? 
Did  you  tell  her  that  Mason  had  offered  to  saw 
it,  and  that  I  and  Bob  Peters  are  going  to  bring 
it  up-stairs  and  pile  it  up  for  her  ?  Didrit  she 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.     177 

think  that  pat  of  butter  looked  nice,  mamma  ? 
Do  tell  me  every  thing." 

"  How  can  I  ?  You  wont  let  me  speak 
Nellie,  love,  place  papa's  chair  at  the  table,  and 
when  we  are  all  seated  I  will  answer  Benny's 
questions.  Papa  would  like  to  hear  about  it 
too." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  should,"  answered  a  hearty 
voice  from  the  little  back  room,  where  John  was 
washing  his  hands  at  the  sink. 

"  Will  you  make  haste,  papa,  please  ?  "  urged 
the  impatient  boy,  who  could  hardly  wait  till  the 
blessing  of  God  was  invoked  upon  their  humble 
meal  before  he  broke  out  afresh. 

"  Now,  mamma,  please  tell  us.  What  did  the 
old  lady  say  when — " 

"  Be  quiet,  Benny,"  said  his  father.  "  Now, 
Ellen,  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  us  the 
whole  story.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  rest 
first." 

"  I  am  not  tired,  thank  you.  When  I  went  in 
I  thought  madam  had,  for  her,  a  rather  anxious 
look.  She  didn't  look  exactly  worried,  only  a 
little  sad.  So  I  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

" '  Nothing  very  bad,'  she  replied,  '  but  I  heard 
to-day  that  Edward  Abbott  has  come  home. 


178      Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

He  owns  this  house,  you  know,  and  he  will  be 
anxious  to  rent  it.  The  lower  rooms  have  been 
empty  for  a  year  now.' 

" '  That  is  strange/  I  answered,  '  for  they  are 
such  convenient,  nice  rooms,  I  never  come  in 
here  without  wishing  we  could  afford  to  hire 
them.' 

" '  I  wish  you  could,  my  dear.  Two  of  the 
chambers  go  with  that  tenement.  I  have  only 
this  room  and  that  place  under  the  eaves  where 
I  keep  my  wood.  I  have  been  thinking  that 
Mr.  Abbott  will  not  like  to  have  the  rooms 
empty.' 

" '  But  if  a  family  should  move  in  you  would 
be  better  off.  It  isn't  safe  for  you  to  live  here 
alone.  I  feel  very  anxious  about  you  when  we 
have  such  storms  as  this  last.  What  if  you 
should  be  taken  suddenly  ill  ? ' 

" '  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,  Ellen.  A 
strange  family  might  want  the  whole  house,  and 
I  can  no  longer  pay  the  rent  even  of  this  little 
room.  Don't  look  so  troubled,  my  dear.  It 
will  all  work  together  for  my  good  ;  and  surely 
I,  who  have  so  often  proved  the  goodness  of  my 
Father  in  heaven,  should  not  distrust  him  now. 
1  le  will  provide.' 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.     1 79 

"  '  That  is  true,'  said  I,  suddenly  recollecting 
my  errand.  '  Why,  only  think,  I  came  over  this 
afternoon  to  tell  you  that  a  person,  who  don't 
wish  to  be  known,  is  going  to  send  you  dry  wood 
enough  to  last  all  winter.  And  Mason  is  to  cut 
it,  he  offered  to  do  it,  and  the  children  will  pack 
it  under  the  eaves  for  you.  It  will  be  here 
directly.  And  here  is  a  trifle  from  my  little 
ones,  just  to  show  that  we  don't  forget  your 
goodness  to  us.  They  saved  their  pennies  in- 
stead of  buying  candy.  John  and  I  encouraged 
them  to  do  so,  for  candy  spoils  the  teeth,  you 
know." 

"  The  old  lady  gave  one  amazed  look  at  the 
contents  of  the  basket,  and  then  turned  directly 
round  and  kneeled  down  by  her  chair  in  the 
corner.  I  knew  she  was  thanking  God,  and  I 
hurried  to  put  all  the  things  in  the  cupboard  out 
of  sight,  for  I  didn't  want  her  to  thank  me." 

"Why  not,  mamma?  She  ought  to,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Ah,  Benny,  her  silent  tears  of  gratitude  said 
more  than  any  words." 

"  But  what  did  she  say  after  all,  mamma  ? " 

"  She  had  no  time  to  say  any  thing,  for  di- 
rectly a  sled  loaded  with  bags,  and  barrels,  arid 


1 80     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

boxes  stopped  at  the  door,  and  a  clear,  loud 
voice  asked  if  Madam  Bretton  lived  there.  I 
ran  down  stairs  to  reply,  and  met  a  tall,  smiling- 
looking  gentleman  in  the  entry. 

" '  I  want  to  speak  to  Madam  Bretton.' 

" '  She  lives  up  stairs,  sir.' 

"'I  have  a  load  of  groceries  here.  Where 
shall  I  put  them  ? ' 

"  '  A  new  tenant  coming  in,  I  suppose  ? '  I 
said. 

" '  Well,  yes,  I  hope  so.  Are  you  Benny 
Strong's  mother  ? ' 

"'Yes,  sir.' 

" '  I  thought  so.  The  same  eyes  and  smile. 
Here,  Tom,  put  all  those  things  into  this  room 
for  the  present.  Now,  ma'am,  if  you  please,  let 
us  see  the  old  lady.' 

"  He  was  up  the  stairs  introducing  himself 
before  I  had  crossed  the  entry,  for  my  heart 
failed  me  as  I  thought  that  his  probable  errand 
was  to  warn  the  old  lady  out.  But  I  followed 
as  soon  as  I  could. 

" '  My  name  is  Edward  Abbott,'  I  heard  him 
say.  '  Do  you  remember  me  ?  You  used  to 
call  me  Neddy  when  I  was  a  boy  and  teased  you. 
You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  hope.' 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      \  8 1 

" '  No,  sir.  Your  features  are  too  like  your 
father's  for  me  to  forget  them.  He  was  my 
husband's  chum  in  college,  and  afterward  they 
were  dear  friends.  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  sir, 
too  long  ago  for  you  to  remember,  but  you  look 
now  as  he  did  then.' 

"  '  My  father  died  just  a  month  before  I  was 
born,  which  makes  m£  recollections  of  him 
rather  indistinct,  you  see.' 

"  I  wish,  John,  that  I  could  give  you  an  idea 
of  the  fun  that  twinkled  all  over  his  face  as  he 
spoke." 

"  No  need,  Ellen,  no  need  ;  I  knew  him  when 
he  was  a  lad." 

"  He  told  madam  that  he  came  in  on  an 
errand. 

" '  I  understand,'  she  replied.  '  You  own  this 
house,  and  I've  wanted  to  see  you  about  it  ever 
since  I  heard  of  your  return.  I  have  no  money 
to  pay  the  rent  longer,  and  I  ought  to  move  out 
directly.  Still  I  have  thought  that  perhaps  I 
might  stay  here  and  pay  for  it  by  being  useful 
to  the  family  below  if  one  should  move  in.  I 
could  mend  for  them,  or  wash  dishes,  or  do  most 
any  of  the  lighter  chores  about  the  house. 
Don't  you  think  I  could,  sir  ? ' 


1 82     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

"  Mr.  Abbott  had  walked  to  the  window,  and 
pretended  to  be  watching  the  unloading  of  the 
sled.  It  was  empty  now,  and  he  turned  sud- 
denly round. 

" '  No,  ma'am,'  said  he,  '  I  don't  think  you 
could.  You  are  too  old  and  too  good  for  a 
household  drudge.  Bother  the  rent,'  he  con- 
tinued, speaking  up  very  loud,  though  I'm  sure 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  '  I  don't  want  any 
rent.  Do  you  take  me  for  a  heathen  ?  You 
can  stay  here  till  the  day  after  forever  if  you 
want  to.  Mrs.  Strong,  those  things  below  are 
for  her.  Mr.  Henry  Clark  and  the  ladies  at  his 
house  sent  them.  At  least  they  provided  the 
most  of  them.  You  will  know  how  to  dispose 
them  conveniently  for  her  use." 

" '  All  this  time  he  had  been  backing  toward 
the  door,  through  which  he  vanished  with  a 
hasty  '  good  day  to  you  both,'  before  we  could 
collect  our  wits  to  utter  a  word  of  thanks. 
There  we  stood,  staring  at  each  other,  and  laugh- 
ing and  crying  like  little  children." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  John,  drawing  his  coat 
sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  the  wood  came,  and  Mason  came  to 
cut  it ;  so  I  got  him  to  help  me  arrange  the 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      183 

things.  I  wish  I  had  brought  home  a  list  of 
them  to  show  you.  Flour,  and  salt  pork,  and 
two  fine  hams,  butter,  and  cheese,  and  potatoes 
— O,  I  can't  think  of  half — but  the  old  lady  is 
provided  for  till  spring,  and  I  am  so  glad,  so 
thankful!  That  Mr.  Abbott  is  a  true  noble- 
man, John.  He  has  such  a  bright,  cheerful 
look,  it  does  one  good  to  look  at  him,  and — well, 
bless  me ! " 

"  What  is  it,  Ellen  ?     What  do  you  see  ? " 

"  Why,  there  he  is  himself,  and  he  is  coming 
straight  up  the  lane  to  our  door." 

Benny  ran  to  open  the  door  before  the  gen- 
tleman had  time  to  rap. 

"  Ah,  it  is  little  Ben-evolence,  is  it  ? "  said  Ned. 

"  No,  sir.     It's  Benny  Strong." 

"  Well,  how  goes  the  New  Year  ?  Are  you 
tired  of  it  yet  ? " 

"  No,  indeed.  I  think,"  said  Benny,  hesitating 
for  a  word  to  express  his  full  appreciation  of 
the  day,  "  I  think  it's  tip-top." 

"  Do  you  ?  I  agree  with  you.  Is  your  father 
in?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  mamma,  too.  And  she  says, 
sir,  that  the  old  lady  is  going  it  prime.  Aint 
you  glad  you  helped  ? " 


1 84     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

"  Aint  I !  You  see,  my  boy,  that  it  takes  you 
and  me  to  finish  up  things  properly ;  so  when- 
ever you  need  help  in  such  a  case  you  must  call 
on  me." 

"  So  I  will.  I  should  be  glad  to,"  said  Benny 
with  much  earnestness.  "  And  I  guess  it  wont 
be  our  fault,  sir,  if  folks  are  not  pretty  comfort- 
able after  this." 

Here  John,  wondering  at  the  child's  tardiness, 
came  out  to  invite  his  visitor  in. 

"  I  can  stop  but  a  moment,  Mr.  Strong.  I 
came  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  oblige  you,  sir,  if  I  can." 

John  looked  with  admiration  into  the  kindly 
face,  which,  though  browned  and  roughened  by 
exposure  to  different  climates,  was  still  manly 
and  handsome. 

"You  have  grown  old,  Mr.  Strong,  since  I 
saw  you  last.  Ten  years  have  wrought  many 
changes,  but  you  are  not  much  older  than  my- 
self, I  think." 

"Two  years  older.  I  am  thirty-three.  We 
are  both  older  than  we  were  when  I  helped  build 
the  west  wing  of  Squire  Clark's  house,  with  you 
and  Miss  Alice  to  oversee  the  work." 

Ned  colored  and  laughed.     "  I  don't  realize  it. 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.     185 

I  don't  feel  a  day  older.  But  you,  Mr.  Strong, 
are  really  getting  old  too  fast." 

"  I  have  had  to  work  hard,  sir,  and  what  with 
sickness  in  my  family  and  the  hard  times,  I 
have  had  anxiety  enough  to  wrinkle  my  fore- 
head a  little.  But  we  are  all  well  now,  and  busi- 
ness is  looking  up ;  so  we  think  the  future  looks 
quite  promising.  Perhaps  I  shall  grow  young 
again." 

"  I  hope  so.  Now  for  my  errand.  I  have 
had  several  chances  to-day  to  rent  the  house 
where  Madam  Bretton  lives,  but  I  don't  like  to 
put  strangers  in  with  her.  How  would  the 
house  suit  you  ?  I  should  like  you  for  a  tenant 
very  much.  I  want  some  one  there  who  will 
look  after  the  old  lady  a  little.  She  tells  me 
that  her  husband  and  my  father  were  intimate 
friends.  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  to  be  sure — 
you  know  my  father  was  an  old  man  when  he 
married — but  I  feel  as  if  she  had  a  claim  on  my 
affection  and  care.  Now,  if  you  could  go  in 
there  I  should  feel  quite  easy.  I  could  shift  the 
responsibility  to  your  shoulders.  If  she  hap- 
pened to  get  out  of  pepper  or  saleratus  you 
could  let  me  know,  and  save  me  the  trouble  of 
investigating  her  affairs.  Don't  say  no,  Mrs. 


1 86     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

Strong.     I  know  it  is  cold  weather,  but  I  could 
send  persons  to  assist  you  about  moving." 

"  Ellen  is  not  thinking  of  the  trouble  of  mov- 
ing," replied  John.  "We  have  not  so  much  to 
move  as  to  make  it  a  burden.  Besides,  she  has 
always  desired  to  live  in  that  house.  But  we 
have  found  it  difficult  to  pay  the  rent  of  this, 
and  I  am  afraid  we  should  not  be  able  to  pay 
more.  Your  house  rents  for  twice  the  sum  we 

pay." 

"  What  of  that  ?  I  meant  you  to  understand 
that  Mrs.  Strong  would  pay  the  rent  by  looking 
after  the  old  lady.  John  Strong,  you  are  not 
above  giving  or  receiving  a  kindness.  You  will 
really  oblige  me  by  agreeing  to  my  terms  and 
moving  into  the  house  at  once.  When  will  you 
be  ready  to  move,  Mrs.  Strong  ? " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  That  is  right.     Shall  I  send  some  help  ? " 

"  No,  sir.  But  you  must  let  us  thank  you, 
for  indeed  we  appreciate — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Excuse  me  for  hurrying 
away." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  persisted  Ellen,  following  him 
to  the  door,  "  I  must  say  one  word.  We  shall 
be  quite  rich  and — " 


Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works.      187 

"  Good  evening.  A  happy  New  Year  to  you 
both.  Come,  little  Benny.  The  moon  is  com- 
ing up  clear  and  bright.  Let  us  take  your  sled 
here,  and  coast  a  little  on  the  hill-side  yonder. 
See  how  it  sparkles  !  It  makes  me  a  boy  again. 
I  would  ask  you  all  to  join  in  our  sport,  but 
Benny  and  I  don't  want  any  old  folks  with  us, 
do  we,  Benny  ? " 

"  He  was  not  in  a  hurry  after  all,"  said  Ellen 
as  she  stood  at  the  window  watching  them. 
"  Do  come,  John,  and  see  them  slide.  The  sled 
shoots  down  the  hill  like  an  arrow.  Don't  you 
hear  them  laugh  and  shout  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  is  only  two  years  younger  than  you  are, 
John.  I  wonder  how  you  would  look  in  a  frolic 
like  that." 

"  I  would  soon  show  you,  Ellen,"  he  replied, 
his  eyes  lighting  up  as  he  watched  the  sport, 
"  but  if  we  are  to  move  to-morrow  there  are 
many  things  that  I  must  arrange  to-night." 

"  No,  no,  John.  Sit  down  here  and  take 
Nellie  on  your  knee  and  let  us  talk  of  God's 
goodness." 

For  a  long  hour  they  sat  in  the  moonlight 
recalling  with  grateful  hearts  their  past  experi- 


1 88     Provoking  to  Love  and  Good  Works. 

ences  of  God's  care  and  loving-kindness  toward 
them.  They  made  many  resolutions  for  the 
future,  humbly  trusting  in  divine  grace  for 
strength  to  keep  them.  When  all  was  at  last 
still,  and  Benny  and  Nellie  were  snugly  tucked 
into  the  low  trundle  bed  for  the  night,  the  little 
girl  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  inquired, 

"What  will  Madam  Bretton  say  when  she 
knows  we  are  coming,  Benny?" 

"Say?  I  don't  know.  O,  I  guess,"  said  the 
boy  after  a  pause,  "  she'll  do  as  she  did  to-day- 
kneel  down  and  thank  God." 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on."  189 


A  PATCH  ON  THE  KNEE  AND 
GLOVES  ON." 


BOSTON,  Dec.2o,  1856. 

AUNT  MARY,— You  need  not 
urge  me  so  earnestly  to  remember  my 
promise  to  write  often  to  you,  for  I  have  only 
been  waiting  to  get  fairly  established  in  my 
Aunt  Augusta's  household,  so  as  to  test  my 
first  impressions  before  giving  them  to  you. 
You  ask  how  I  like  life  in  this  city.  Life  in 
the  city,  as  it  might  be  with  such  facilities  for 
intellectual  culture  and  gratification  as  appear 
on  every  hand,  should  be  delightful  ;  but  fash- 
ionable city  life — at  least  the  poverty-stricken 
phase  of  it  that  I  behold — is,  of  all  earthly  exist- 
ence the  most  unbearable. 

It  seems  that  we  are  genteel  people,  live  on 
a  fashionable  street,  and  in  genteel  style.  I 
seem  to  see  you  open  your  eyes  and  ask  how  it 
is  possible  to  do  this  with  the  limited  income  of 
my  aunt.  That  it  is  not  impossible  you  will  ac- 
knowledge before  you  have  finished  this  letter. 


190  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

It  was  on  a  dismal  wet  evening  that  I  arrived 
here,  not  very  cold  for  the  last  of  November, 
but  one  of  those  drizzling,  shivering  days  that 
make  us  appreciate  the  bright  glow  of  a  good 
fire.  I  had  traveled  two  days  and  nights  with- 
out stopping  to  rest,  only  catching  an  occasional 
cat-nap  when  overcome  with  fatigue  ;  and  when 
I  bade  farewell  to  the  cars  and  entered  the 
carriage  which  was  to  convey  me  to  my  aunt's 
house,  I  was  childish  enough  to  weep  for  joy  in 
anticipation  of  the  warm  welcome  that  awaited 
me.  I  forgot  the  coldly  civil  letter  that  gave 
me  permission  to  obey  my  father's  dying  wish, 
that,  if  unmarried,  I  should  spend  my  eighteenth 
year  under  her  care,  and  also  the  funny  hope 
that  she  had  expressed,  that  I  would,  for  her 
daughters'  sake,  conceal  the  fact  of  my  being 
an  heiress.  I  only  remembered  that  she  was  a 
dear  sister  to  my  father,  as  you,  aunty,  were  to 
my  mother,  and  my  heart  throbbed  with  delight 
as  I  impatiently  waited  to  be  folded  to  her 
heart. 

But  of  all  evenings  in  the  year  I  had  arrived 
on  one  sacred  to  the  interests  of  a  fashionable 
party,  and  both  my  aunt  and  cousins  being 
dressed  to  go  out,  you  see  at  once  that  any 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on."     191 

tty/ig  like  a  cordial,  heart-cheering  hug  was  out 
of  the  question.  One  glance  assured  me  that  it 
would  be  an  impossible  achievement. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Margaret,"  said  my 
aunt,  reaching  the  tips  of  her  gloved  fingers  to 
me,  over  an  amplitude  of  skirt  that  reminded 
me  of  those  enormous  pumpkins  that  decorate 
our  store-room  at  home,  whose  stems  they  all 
seemed  striving  to  represent  by  a  display  of  the 
smallest  waists  I  ever  saw. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Margaret,"  repeated 
both  cousins  in  exactly  the  same  tone  and  care- 
less, languid  manner  of  my  aunt. 

"  We  did  not  expect  you  till  to  morrow,"  pur- 
sued my  aunt;  "you  must  have  traveled  very 
rapidly.  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  an  engage- 
ment this  evening,  but  as  you  are  to  stay  with 
us  it  will  make  little  difference.  You  will  ex- 
cuse us." 

"  You  will  excuse  us,"  repeated  the  two  echoes  ; 
to  which  I  replied,  in  my  most  accommodating 
manner,  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  so." 

"  Hannah  will  make  you  comfortable.  There 
is  the  bell-cord  when  you  wish  to  summon  her. 
Come,  my  dears,  the  carriage  is  waiting." 

With  another  formal  apology  and  three  fare- 


192  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

well  bows,  all  made  after  one  pattern,  they 
swept  out  of  the  room,  and  by  some  inexplica- 
ble process  were  all  stowed  into  one  common- 
sized  carriage. 

Then  I  took  a  long  breath  and  surveyed  the 
apartment.  It  was  handsomely  furnished — the 
mantels,  tables,  niches,  and  corner-cabinets 
each  displaying  their  own  appropriate  trifles 
and  shining  in  the  gas-light.  There  were  sev- 
eral handsome  paintings  on  the  walls,  and  be- 
neath one  of  them  stood  a  large  piano  covered 
with  crimson  cloth.  But  to  me  there  was  an 
indescribable,  straitened,  uncomfortable  expres- 
sion that  seemed  to  characterize  every  article 
of  furniture,  and  endow  it  with  a  living,  sorrow- 
ful identity.  I  could  no't  help  laughing  at  the 
absurd  fancy  then,  but  have  not  yet  been  able 
to  divest  myself  of  the  strange  impression,  or  to 
turn  a  blind  eye  to  the  dumb  remonstrances  of 
the  immovable  chairs,  whose  helpless  rockers 
seemed  doomed  to  point  forever  toward  the 
north-east. 

Did  you  know,  aunt,  that  when  a  fashionable 
upholsterer  places  a  piece  of  furniture  in  a  par- 
ticular place,  it  is  sacrilegious  to  remove  it  to 
another  ?  It  doesn't  matter  how  much  your 


"  A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Glovts  on?    193 

own  taste  may  rebel  against  the  arrangement, 
or  how  persistently  your  innate  desire  for  com- 
fort may  suggest  an  alteration,  your  drawing- 
room  must  be  an  accurate  copy  of  the  fashion- 
able Mrs.  Vacuum's  or  you  lose  caste  in  genteel 
society.  Fitness  and  ease  are  both  tabooed. 

I  had  just  completed  my  survey,  and  was 
wondering  whether  I  too  was  becoming  a  fix- 
ture of  the  room,  when  the  door  opened  and  my 
Cousin  Frederick,  a  lad  of  twelve  years,  entered 
with  his  school-books  in  his  hand.  He  started 
slightly  on  seeing  me,  but  came  forward  direct- 
ly, saying,  in  a  pleasant,  cordial  voice,  "  My 
Cousin  Margaret,  I  suppose  ? " 

I  saw  at  once  that  he  had  not  yet  outgrown 
the  natural  openness  of  boyhood,  and  I  won- 
dered if  city  boys  were  obliged  to  go  through 
the  same  refining,  or,  rather,  ironing,  process 
that  their  sisters  were  subject  to. 

"  My  mother  and  sisters  have  just  gone  out," 
said  Frederick,  who  seemed  to  think  that  I  had 
just  entered  the  house.  "  They  will  regret  your 
late  arrival,  and  there  being  no  one  at  home  to 
receive  you  but  myself.  Have  you  had  tea?" 

"  Not  since  the  day  before  yesterday." 

His  gleeful,  boyish  laugh  made  me  feel  quite 


194  "^  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

at  home.  "  I  will  call  Hannah,"  he  said.  "  She 
will  show  you  to  your  room  and  make  tea  for 
you  while  you  are  changing  your  dress." 

I  had  been  standing  all  this  time,  wrapped  in 
my  cloak  and  furs.  Hannah  came  directly  and 
soon  ushered  me  into  a  large  chamber,  which 
she  said  was  to  be  mine  during  my  visit.  She 
has  no  idea  that  I  crime  as  a  boarder,  or  that  I 
am  to  stay  here  more  than  a  week.  My  room 
is  one  of  the  chambers  of  state,  and  is,  or  was, 
elegantly  furnished,  but  its  whole  aspect  gave 
me  the  same  feeling  that  had  been  inspired  by 
the  parlor  below.  The  same  confined,  implor- 
ing look  met  me  on  all  sides.  I  did  not  dare 
to  touch  the  curtains,  or  to  alter  the  position  of 
the  dressing-glass,  which  stood  inconveniently 
near  the  bed  ;  and  as  for  the  half-hour's  rest 
that  I  had  contemplated,  I  gave  it  up  at  once, 
for  the  bed  seemed  to  speak  from  its  lowest 
mattress  and  refuse  to  be  tumbled.  There  was 
no  fire  in  the  grate,  and  rather  than  expose 
myself  to  the  chilly  temperature  of  the  room,  I 
went  down  to  tea  in  my  traveling  dress. 

Now  please  to  remember,  dear  aunt,  that  I 
had  not  enjoyed  a  regular  meal  since  I  left,  and 
that  I  had  been  saving  my  appetite  all  day,  so 


"  A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  OK'    195 

as  to  fully  do  justice  to  my  first  supper  with  my 
expectant  relatives.  In  this  connection,  also, 
oblige  me  by  recalling  to  memory  the  gastro- 
nomic exploits  of  which  you  have  seen  me 
capable  after  a  fasting  washing-day,  and  you  will 
understand  my  feelings  as  I  surveyed  the  sup- 
per spread  for  me  in  the  dining-room.  I  was  a 
little  dazzled  at  first  by  the  delicate  china  service 
and  silver  tea-urn,  cake-basket,  and  forks  of  the 
same  metal  as  broad  as  my  gardening-fork,  and 
I  might  have  spent  some  time  in  admiring  them 
had  it  not  been  for  the  remonstrances  of  my 
tantalized  stomach. 

There  were  three  biscuits  on  the  table  about 
the  size  of  a  Mexican  dollar,  and  two  slices  of 
sponge  cake,  so  transparently  light  that  I  have 
no  doubt  that  in  lieu  of  spectacles  I  might  have 
read  common-sized  print  through  them.  There 
was  some  jelly  in  a  cut-glass  dish,  which  had 
admirably  preserved  the  natural  acidity  of  the 
crab-apples  of  which  it  was  made,  and  conse- 
quently defied  all  attempts  made  to  reduce  its 
bulk.  It  might  have  been  an  heir-loom  in  the 
family,  being  secure  in  itself  from  all  destructive 
influences. 

When  I  rose  from  the  table  I  saw  that  Haa- 


196  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

nah  was  astonished  to  find  every  crumb  eaten, 
and  I  have  since  learned  that  it  is  not  well-bred 
to  leave  nothing  on  the  table  but  the  dishes. 

I  have  filled  my  sheet  already  without  begin- 
ning to  give  you  all  of  my  first  evening's  ex- 
perience, but  I  will  write  again  by  to-morrow's 
mail,  hoping  to  get  at  the  same  time  an  encour- 
aging line  from  you.  Don't  let  Bessy  forget  my 
birds,  and  see  that  Blackey  is  properly  rubbed 
down  and  exercised.  How  I  long  for  home  and 
its  common-sense  delights  ! 

Your  affectionate  MAGGIE. 

BOSTON,  December  21. 

DEAR  AUNT, — Between  you  and  me  I  would 
have  paid  handsomely,  at  the  close  of  my  first 
meal  here,  for  the  privilege  of  extemporizing 
a  few  buckwheat  griddle-cakes  in  your  back 
kitchen.  I  did  not  return  to  the  parlor  ;  I  was 
too  sleepy  and  tired,  so  I  went,  shivering  all 
over,  back  to  my  own  room.  I  found  that, 
during  my  short  absence,  the  splendid  counter- 
pane and  embroidered  pillow-cases  had,  by  some 
pleasant  magic,  been  changed  for  coarser  and 
less  defiant  ones,  and  that  several  other  mustn't- 
touchables  had  been  removed.  The  change 


"  A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on."    1 97 

insensibly  cheered  me,  and  I  was  contriving 
various  ways  to  give  a  more  home-like  aspect 
to  the  room,  not  forgetting  an  eligible  place  for 
your  blue  pin-cushion,  when  Hannah  came  to 
ask  if  I  wanted  any  thing. 

"Yes,  Hannah,  I  should  like  a  good  fire.  This 
room  is  damp  and  chilly." 

"  Mistress  don't  allow  fires  in  the  sleeping- 
rooms.  She  says  it  is  unhealthy." 

"  But  I  have  been  traveling  all  day  and  I  am 
cold." 

"  You  had  better  go  down  to  the  parlor,  then." 

Hannah's  manner  was  obliging,  but  she 
was  evidently  afraid  to  break  any  rule  of  the 
house. 

"What  is  that  stove  here  for?"  I  asked. 

"  Can't  say.  Never  saw  a  fire  in  it.  Will  you 
please  to  go  down  to  the  parlor  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  will  come  down  to  the  kitchen  if 
you  will  let  me." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Miss,  that  the  kitchen  fire  is 
out.  Mistress  is  very  particular,  and  likes  to 
have  the  kitchen  shut  up  early." 

"  Never  mind.  If  the  fire  is  out  we'll  build 
another.  I  know  how  to  make  a  fire.  Come, 
Hannah,  I  belong  in  the  country,  where  folks 


198  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

believe  in  being  cosy  and  comfortable.  My 
going  shivering  to  bed  is  out  of  the  question. 
I  am  going  to  warm  my  feet  and  have  a  dish 
of  hot  ginger  tea  with  toasted  bread  in  it.  It  is 
nice,  Hannah,  and  you  shall  have  some  if  you 
will  help  me  to  make  it." 

Hannah's  mouth  fairly  watered,  in  spite  of 
her  eyes  dilating  with  astonishment  and  fear ; 
but  she  only  said,  "  I'm  afraid  mistress  wont 
like  it." 

"  Like  it ! "  I  repeated.  "  Suppose  she  don't. 
Now,  Hannah,  you  are  not  so  foolish  as  to 
believe  that  I  am  going  to  bed  in  my  aunt's 
house,  after  a  long  journey,  both  cold  and  hun- 
gry. You  see  it  isn't  reasonable." 

"  But  my  mistress  is  so  particular,"  still  urged 
poor  Hannah.  "  I  might  lose  my  place." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  a  little  moved  by  her 
deprecatory  looks  and  words,  "you  keep  quiet. 
Risk  nothing,  endanger  nothing.  That  is  your 
proverb.  Mine  is,  '  Nothing  venture,  nothing 
have.'  I  have  no  place  to  lose ;  but  if  I  had 
forty  I'd  have  my  ginger  tea  first." 

In  a  few  minutes  I  had  a  rousing  fire,  and  the 
little  tea-kettle  was  singing  as  merry  a  tune  as 
could  be  desired,  I  humming  in  concert  with  it 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"     199 

It  really  refreshed  me  to  hustle  about  among  the 
dishes  of  the  pantry  in  my  old  free  manner. 

"  Now  for  the  ginger."  I  was  talking  to  myself 
now.  "  Sugar.  Here  it  is.  Cream.  O,  I  forgot 
that  city  cows  do  not  give  cream  !  Milk,  then." 

Hannah  caught  my  arm,  looking  positively 
frightened.  Don't,  Miss  ;  please  don't. 

It  was  too  late.  I  had  poured  it  all  into  my 
bowl,  and  a  scanty  portion  it  was. 

"It  was  saved  for  the  breakfast  coffee,"  whim- 
pered Hannah  disconsolately;  "O  me!  O  me! 
what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  Why,  buy  more.  The  milkman  comes 
in  the  morning,  does  he  not  ? " 

"  O  yes  !  But  we  only  engage  a  particular 
quantity.  Mistress  will — " 

"  Just  taste,  Hannah  ;  it  is  good  enough  for  a 
queen.  Where  is  your  bread  ? " 

"  There  is  only  enough  for  breakfast." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  I,  beginning  to  quote  Scripture 
rather  irreverently.  "  'Take  no  thought  for  the 
morrow.'  You're  a  second  Martha,  '  careful  and 
troubled  about  many  things.'  I  wonder  if  Cousin 
Fred  likes  ginger  tea.  Suppose  you  ask  him, 
Hannah,  while  I  toast  this  bread.  Tell  him  we 
have  a  plenty." 


2OO  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

"  I  shouldn't  dare  to.    Why,  mistress  will — " 

"  Here  he  comes,"  I  interrupted  her  ;  "  I  hear 
his  step  on  the  stairs." 

Hannah  again  caught  my  arm,  and  this  time 
clung  to  me  desperately.  "  Don't  open  the  door, 
please.  He'll  be  sure  to  tell  mistress." 

"  Well,  let  him.  I  hope  I  ain't  stealing.  There 
is  nobody  at  home  to  see  to  my  comfort,  and  so 
I  see  to  myself.  Where  is  the  sin,  I  should  like 
to  know  ? " 

Fred  went  on,  and  Hannah  became  more  com- 
posed. I  think  she  began  to  calculate  how  much 
of  her  own  pocket  money  it  would  take  to  re- 
plenish the  pantry.  "  If  you  were  visiting  me, 
miss,"  she  said  at  last,  finishing,  as  she  spoke,  a 
tumbler  of  the  refreshing  beverage  which  I  had 
generously  handed  to  her,  "I'm  sure  you'd  be 
welcome  to  the  best,  but  my  mistress  calculates 
so  closely  that  she  leaves  no  room  for  extras." 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  Hannah,  I  wasn't  brought 
up  on  moonshine,  and  I  can't  live  on  it." 

"  How  long  will  you  stay  here  ?  " 

"  A  year." 

"  Bless  me !  Then  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to 
get  used  to  our  ways." 

"  Perhaps.     But  as  there  is  no  grace  for  bor- 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on."     201 

rowed  troubles,  and  I  am  once  more  tolerably 
comfortable,  I  will  go  to  bed." 

As  I  closed  the  door  I  looked  round  and  saw 
Hannah  swallow  the  dregs  of  my  ginger  tea 
and  then  spread  her  hands  completely  over  the 
warm  stove.  "  Ah ! "  said  I,  with  a  pleasant  ap- 
preciation of  self,  "  I  have  comforted  a  fellow- 
creature  as  well  as  myself.  I  have  been  doing 
good  unawares." 

Hoping  that  you  too  will  believe  in  my  be- 
nevolence, and  promising  to  write  again  as  soon 
as  I  hear  from  you,  I  remain  your  own 

MAGGIE. 

BOSTON,  December  27,  1856. 

My  DEAR  GOOD  AUNT:  You  don't  happen 
to  know,  do  you,  whether  or  not  my  father  was 
delirious  when  he  desired  that  I  should  spend 
my  eighteenth  year  with  Aunt  Augusta  ?  be- 
cause, if  he  was,  I  am  coming  home.  You  ask 
what  aunt  said  about  the  ginger  tea.  Not  a 
word  to  me,  but  poor  Hannah's  eyes  were  swol- 
len with  crying  all  the  next  day.  I  felt  so  sorry 
for  her  that  I  inwardly  vowed  that  nothing 
short  of  absolute  starvation  should  induce  me 
to  enter  the  kitchen  asjain. 


2O2  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

I  have  been  obliged  to  make  all  my  dresses 
smaller,  and,  as  Aunt  Augusta  encouragingly 
says,  begin  to  look  gracefully  languid  and  deli- 
cate. Four  weeks  more  of  dieting — or,  rather, 
not  dieting — and  there  will  be  nothing  of  me  left 
but  my  dresses. 

It  will  be  rather  difficult,  aunty,  to  gratify 
you  with  a  correct  picture  of  our  daily  life,  be- 
cause, with  all  your  thrift,  you  don't  begin  to 
know  the  value  of  a  biscuit.  Bread  is  our 
staple  ;  and  though  the  Bible  expressly  declares 
that  man  cannot  live  by  bread  alone,  my  aunt 
persists  in  refusing  to  apply  this  principle  to 
our  sex,  and  insists  that  it  shows  a  perverted 
taste  to  hanker,  as  I  do,  after  the  flesh-pots  of 
Egypt.  There  is  always  cake  stored  in  some 
unknown  corner  of  the  house  in  readiness  for 
unexpected  company ;  but  our  common  fare,  in 
spite  of  its  garnishing  of  cut-glass  and  silver,  is 
very  much  like  Dennis  M'Pherson's  "  shouldher 
o'  nothin'  widout  vegetables." 

I  get  along  better  than  the  rest,  for  Hannah, 
in  consideration  of  being  allowed  a  share  of  the 
same,  is  always  ready  to  smuggle  a  supply  of 
contraband  crackers  and  gingerbread  into  my 
chamber.  These,  of  necessity,  are  rather  dry, 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"     203 

and  I  am  obliged  to  eat  them  just  before  retir-. 
ing  to  rest  in  order  to  be  secure  from  interrup- 
tion, and  the  unseasonable  meal  does  not  pro- 
mote health  or  sleep. 

You  must  know  that  I  obtained  permission  to 
have  a  fire  in  my  room  on  condition  that  I  paid 
for  the  coal.  The  fact  of  my  paying  an  exor- 
bitant price  for  board  is  wholly  ignored.  I  am 
always  spoken  of  as  a  visitor,  it  being  ungenteel 
to  lake  boarders. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  my  aunt  and  cousins, 
with  coarse  check  aprons  to  cover  their  elegant 
silk  morning  wrappers,  and  with  half-gloves  to 
protect  their  hands,  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  spending  the  forenoon  in  a  little  back  sitting- 
room  occupied  in  sewing  for  the  slop-shops. 
Hannah  takes  the  work  in  her  own  name,  and  is 
usually  supposed  to  be  a  miracle  of  industry. 
A  fire  is  always  ready  to  be  lighted  in  the 
parlor,  and  whenever  any  of  their  fashionable 
associates  come  in  for  a  morning  call,  it  is  the 
work  of  a  moment  to  throw  off  apron  and  gloves 
and  to  assume  al!  the  grace  of  elegant  leisure. 
Hannah  is  instructed  to  light  the  parlor  fire  on 
her  way  to  the  door. 

Well,  Aunt   Mary,    I    had    no    sooner  found 

14 


204  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

myself  comfortable  in  my  own  room,  by  my  own 
fire,  than  the  back  sitting-room  was  abandoned, 
and  my  dear  relatives  came,  slop-work  and  all, 
to  help  me  enjoy  myself. 

"  You  see,"  said  Aunt  Augusta,  "  there  is 
plenty  of  room  here,  and  it  is  so  much  better 
than  littering  the  room  below." 

Even  when  they  are  engaged  with  company 
in  the  evening,  Master  Fred  is  sent  here  to  get 
his  lessons. 

"  Mother,"  said  Harriet  this  morning,  "  have 
you  seen  Susy  Brigham's  new  brocade  ?  I  am 
dying  for  one  like  it." 

"  Well,  dear,  don't  fret,"  replied  my  aunt,  with 
a  significant  glance  at  my  cozy  fire,  "  perhaps 
t  we  shall  save  enough  money  this  winter  to  get 
one." 

I  will  not  forget  to  tell  you  a  little  circum- 
stance that  happened  yesterday  morning,  and 
which  vexed  me  considerably.  Harriet  came 
into  the  room  shivering  with  the  cold,  and 
crouched  down  on  the  carpet  before  the  grate 
while  I  dressed.  Hannah  makes  my  fire  as 
soon  as  she  gets  up,  and  the  room  was  quite 
warm.  Harriet  sat  still  awhile  watching  me, 
and  I  had  almost  forgotten  her  presence  when 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    205 

she  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Goodness,  cousin, 
do  you  wear  flannels  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so.     Don't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  haven't  any  thing  of  the  sort.  Are 
they  comfortable  ?  " 

"Very.  I  thought  that  in  this  variable  cli- 
mate flannel  was  a  necessity." 

"  If  it  was  we  could  not  afford  it." 

"  The  Italian  corsets  that  you  and  Jane  are 
daily  squeezed  into  cost  more." 

"  But  those  are  necessary.  Madame  Dumont 
says  we  should  have  no  form  without  them." 

"  Nonsense.  I  never  wore  a  thing  of  the  sort 
in  my  life,  and  my  figure  is  better  than  yours." 

"  Better  ?     You  are  much  larger." 

"  Because  I  have  had  room  to  breathe." 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  live  without  them  ;  they 
brace  me,  and  I  feel  better  snugly  dressed." 

"  On  the  principle  of  the  Esquimaux,  who 
wear  a  light  belt  to  relieve,  in  some  degree,  the 
agonies  of  starvation." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  cousin  ?  " 

"  Of  the  Esquimaux." 

"  I  don't  know  them.  Country  people,  are 
they  not  ? " 

"  Yes.     But  speaking  of  flannel,  Harriet,  I 


206  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

will  give  you  money  enough  to  buy  it,  it'  you 
will  make  it  up  and  wear  it." 

She  took  the  bill  that  I  offered  her,  and  was 
thanking  me  in  her  languid  way  when  my  aunt 
came  in. 

"  Not  dressed,  Margaret  ?  Breakfast  is  nearly 
ready." 

"  I  will  be  down  directly." 

"  See,  mother,"  said  Harriet,  "  Cousin  Mar- 
garet has  given  me  this  to  purchase  flannel." 

"  Flannel !  for  what  purpose,  child  ?  " 

"To  wear,  mother.  She  wears  it,  and  she 
does  not  suffer  from  the  cold  as  I  do." 

"  She  is  less  fragile  and  delicate,  my  dear. 
But  since  she  has  generously  given  you  the 
money  it  shall  be  expended  for  you.  Let  me 
see  ;  it  is  five  dollars.  Hannah  got  twenty  for 
those  awkward-looking  bracelets  that  your 
grandmother  gave  you,  and  when  this  week's 
work  is  carried  home  we  can  get  a  set  of 
cameos  like  Emma  Newell's.  Your  new  dress 
.of  white  satin  only  needs  cameos  to  perfect 
it.  I  am  sure  we  are  greatly  obliged  to  you, 
Margaret." 

They  went  down  stairs  exulting,  and  left 
me  mentally  vowing  that  on  no  pretense  should 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    207 

another  penny  of  mine  help  to  sustain  such 
hollow  and  really  shabby  gentility.  In  my  next 
I  will  explain  to  you  why  I  see  so  little  society, 
and  why  I  suffer  myself  to  pass  for  a  country 
blunderhead.  In  the  mean  time  I  am  your 
affectionate  MAGGIE. 

BOSTON,  January  1. 

MY  DEAR  AUNT  :  A  happy  New  Year  to  you  ! 
For  once  I  have  a  morning  to  myself,  for  my 
cousins  are  going  through  the  usual  farce  of 
receiving  calls  and  compliments  from  any  one 
who  chooses  to  claim  the  privilege.  My  aunt 
graciously  gave  me  permission  to  stay  in  my 
room  instead  of  occupying  my  usual  corner, 
where  I  generally  pass  unnoticed.  It  is  my 
aunt's  wish  that  I  attract  as  little  attention  as 
possible  till  Harriet  is  settled  in  life.  I  do  not 
approach  the  piano  unless  Harriet  needs  my 
assistance  in  practicing  her  lessons  ;  and  as  to 
drawing,  I  have  not  yet  unpacked  my  pencils 
and  brushes.  I  have  leisure,  but  no  quiet.  You 
will  shake  your  head,  I  fear,  and  prophesy  that 
Harry's  instructions  will  be  wholly  lost  ;  but  I 
am  sure  I  could  not  sketch  a  post-and-rail  fence 
among  all  this  slop-work. 


208  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on. " 

Yesterday's  mail  brought  a  long  letter  from 
Harry,  who  has  at  last  got  his  diploma  and  is  a 
veritable  M.  D.  He  complains,  in  his  whimsical 
manner,  of  the  general  healthiness  of  the  season, 
which  prevents  an  exhibition  of  his  skill. 

You  ask  if  my  Aunt  Augusta  has  not  yet  at- 
tempted to  subdue  the  free  speech  and  independ- 
ent manner  about  which  you  have  so  often  lec- 
tured. Harry  mischievously  inquires  if  she  has 
tamed  me.  As  if  I  were  a  wild  beast.  Well, 
to  satisfy  you  both,  I  will  confess  that  I  attend 
morning  lectures,  afternoon  lectures,  and  even- 
ing lectures  all  on  the  same  theme — propriety. 
And  I  have  not  yet  acquired  the  prescribed 
width  of  a-  fashionable  yawn,  or  the  true  com- 
pass of  a  sneeze. 

I  was  passing  the  front  door  this  morning  on 
my  way  to  my  room,  when  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  the  screams  of  a  little  girl  who 
was  crossing  the  street  from  the  opposite  walk. 
She  was  bonnetless  and  shoeless,  and  her  little 
pinched  feet  looked  blue  and  cold  through  the 
holes  of  her  stockings.  Hannah,  who  was  pol- 
ishing the  door-knob,  stopped  short  in  her  work, 
and  after  gazing  a  moment  at  the  child  ex- 
claimed, "Why,  it  is  Milly  !" 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"     209 

"  Who  is  Milly  ? "  I  asked. 

"  A  little  girl  that  Pete  Shaw  has  taken  from 
the  almshouse.  He  uses  her  dreadfully." 

Just  then  the  said  Pete  came  in  sight  armed 
with  a  huge  whip,  and  striding  wrathfully  along 
with  the  whip  half  raised  in  anticipation  of  the 
torture  it  was  ready  to  inflict.  Whether  the  child 
saw  sympathy  in  my  looks  I  am  unable  to  say  ; 
but  she  sprang  up  the  steps  and  clung  to  my 
dress,  begging  me  in  the  most  imploring  tones 
to  protect  her  and  send  her  to  her  mammy  at 
the  almshouse.  Her  childish  cries  only  served 
to  encourage  the  man  still  farther,  but  my  pres- 
ence operated  as  a  transient  restraint  upon  him, 
and  he  bowed  surlily  as  he  ordered  the  child  to 
come  down  into  the  street.  "  Come  down  here, 
you  young  imp !  I'll  pay  you  for  this.  You 
wont  kick  up  all  this  row  for  nothing,  you'd 
better  believe." 

He  saw  that  the  passers-by  were  pausing  to 
observe  him,  and  he  was  evidently  in  a  hurry  to 
retreat  from  his  unenviable  position. 

"  Don't  hinder  her,  Miss."  I  had  stooped 
down  and  put  my  arms  round  the  child.  "  You 
do  it  at  your  peril,  I  tell  ye.  I'll  have  the  law 
on  ye." 


2io  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

"The  law!"  I  repeated  contemptuously.  "  It 
is  brutes  like  you  who  should  fear  the  law." 

"  Margaret !  Margaret ! "  called  my  aunt  from 
the  breakfast  room,  "  you  will  please  to  close 
that  door !  " 

I  looked  down  upon  the  crowd  below,  and  in 
many  an  eye  I  read  sympathy  for  the  poor  un- 
fortunate child,  and  an  evident  loathing  of  her 
persecutor. 

"  Margaret !  Margaret ! "  still  called  my  aunt. 

"  Hand  over  that  brat  or  you'll  rue  it,"  fairly 
bellowed  Pete  Shaw. 

"  Is  there  no  one  here,"  I  asked,  "  who  will 
take  this  poor  child  back  to  the  almshouse  and 
give  the  overseers  a  true  account  of  its  bar- 
barous treatment  ? " 

My  aunt  was  at  the  door  now,  pulling  my 
dress  with  one  hand  and  pushing  the  child  back 
with  the  other.  "For  shame,  Margaret!"  she 
said  angrily, 

"  I  will  give  this  bill — it  is  three  dollars — to 
any  two  men  who  will  carry  back  the  child." 

"  What  nonsense,  Margaret ! "  said  my  aunt, 
still  pulling  and  pushing. 

Two  noble  men,  in  mason's  attire,  sprang  up 
the  steps  and  took  the  child. 


M  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on."    2 1 1 

"  No,  Miss,"  said  the  foremost  one  ;  "  keep  your 
money.  Come,  little  one,  you're  as  safe  as  if  ye 
were  in  the  top  of  the  old  South  Church." 

1  no  longer  resisted  the  efforts  of  my  aunt, 
who  drew  a  sigh  of  exceeding  relief  when  the 
crowd  was  shut  out.  I  only  got  a  glimpse  of 
Pete  Shaw  as  he  shook  his  brawny  fist  at  me 
and  walked  off.  I  resignedly  obeyed  my  aunt's 
gesture  and  followed  her  into  the  breakfast- 
room,  as  sure  of  a  lecture  as  if  I  had  taken  it. 

"  Sit  down,  Margaret,"  she  began.  "  Let  me 
know  what  occasioned  this  disgraceful  uproar 
at  my  door." 

I  told  her  the  story  in  a  few  words.  My 
cousins  exchanged  looks  of  astonishment,  and 
Fred  laughed,  as  if  it  were  a  very  comical  affair 
indeed.  I  suppose  I  looked  very  indignant,  for 
he  began  an  apology.  "  I  am  sorry — " 

"  Be  silent,  Frederick,"  interrupted  his  moth- 
er. "  Will  you  be  so  kind,  Margaret,  as  to  tell 
me  if  you  have  been  educated  without  any  re- 
gard to  decorum  ? " 

"  If  you  mean  to  ask,  aunt,  whether  I  have 
been  taught  to  be  wholly  unmindful  of  the  sor- 
rows' of  others,  I  must  confess  that  that  is  a 
branch  of  study  of  which  my  Aunt  Mary  is 


212  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

ignorant,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  her  niece 
is  no  wiser." 

"  Because,"  continued  Aunt  Augusta,  "  it  is  a 
very  unfortunate  circumstance  for  a  young  lady 
to  grow  up  without  any  sense  of  propriety — a 
young  lady  of  fortune,  too,  and  not  deficient  in 
natural  talent." 

"  I  thought,  aunt,"  I  answered  demurely,  "  that 
my  wealth  was  not  to  be  mentioned  here,  lest  it 
should  mar  the  matrimonial  prospects  of  my 
cousins." 

If  this  little  hit  did  not  "  bring  down  the 
house,"  it  produced  a  perceptible  sensation,  and 
had  the  immediate  effect  of  softening  my  aunt's 
magisterial  deportment. 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said,  when  I  had  sufficiently 
enjoyed  the  annoyance  of  my  monitress,  "  that 
you  have  something  more  to  say  to  me.  You 
did  not  call  me  back  merely  to  inquire  about 
my  education." 

"  No,  Margaret.  I  wished  to  tell  you  that  you 
are  too  impulsive,  and  that  this  morning's  event 
must  not  occur  again.  You  must  curb  that  mor- 
bid sympathy  that  leads  you  beyond  the  bounds 
of  decorum.  Do  you  suppose  that  a  truly-refined 
and  delicate  lady  would  have  been  caught  in  the 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  oni'    2 1 3 

awkward  place  that  you  occupied  this  morning, 
gazed  at  by  the  rabble  and  hugging  a  dirty  pau- 
per from  the  almshouse  ?  Be  candid,  Margaret, 
and  own  that  you  would  have  been  amazed  if 
your  cousins  or  myself  had  been  found  in  such 
circumstances." 

"  That  is  true." 

"  You  See,  Margaret,  that  you  are  apt  to  over- 
step the  limits  prescribed  by  genteel  society.  It 
is  in  part  owing  to  your  early  training,  but  it  is 
also  constitutional.  Your  mother  had  the  same 
trait.  I  have  seen  her  leave  a  refined  circle  of 
friends  to  rescue  a  kitten  that  some  boys  were 
amusing  themselves  with.  Fie,  Margaret !  In 
tears  !  " 

"  I  can't  help  it.     My  darling  mother ! " 

"  Well,  well,  I  am  sorry  I  mentioned  her. 
But  while  we  are  on  this  subject  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  your  behavior  last  night  tried  me 
exceedingly." 

"How,  aunt?"  I  dried  my  tears  and  sum- 
moned my  recreant  wits  to  defend  myself. 

"  You  were  expressly  told  that  a  select  com- 
pany would  be  here,  and  that,  to  avoid  remarks 
upon  our  treatment  of  so  near  a  relative,  I 
wished  you  to  dress  suitably  and  come  into  the 


214  "-^  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

parlor.  Instead  of  this  you  stayed  in  your  room 
till  a  late  hour,  and  then  burst  in  upon  us  in  a 
plain  morning  wrapper,  and  after  a  very  slight 
recognition  of  the  company  excused  yourself 
from  joining  us  because  you  wished  to  heel 
and  toe  Fred's  stockings." 

"  Well,  aunt,  I  thought  you  would  expect 
some  apology  and  so  I  came  to  bring  it." 

"  But  did  you  not  think  of  the  strange  im- 
pression that  you  would  make  on  the  minds  of 
the  gentlemen  present  ?  " 

"  No.  What  does  it  matter  ?  I  did  nothing 
criminal." 

"Then  your  employment,  Margaret.  Why, 
Harriet  here  would  be  ashamed  if  any  one  sus- 
pected her  of  knowing  how  to  knit  stockings. 
But  there  you  stood,  with  your  hand  on  the  door- 
knob, saying,  '  Please  excuse  me,  aunt,  I  must 
toe  off  Fred's  stocking.'  O  Margaret ! " 

I  laughed,  for  it  was  rather  droll,  now  I  come 
to  recall  it. 

"  What  else,  Aunt  Augusta  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  are  out  walking  on  the  common 
two  hours  before  fashionable  people  get  up." 

"  They  do  not  see  me  if  they  are  in  bed,  so 
I  disgrace  no  one.  I  can't  live  without  pure  air. 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    2 1 5 

I  was  brought  up  to  breathe  it.  I  should  look 
as  puny  and  sallow  as  Harriet  and  Jane  if  I  did 
not  walk." 

"  Sallow  !  puny  ! "  repeated  both  the  young 
ladies  angrily,  and  I  saw  that  in  self-defense  I 
had  blundered  again. 

"  It  is  useless  to  talk,"  said  my  aunt  resign- 
edly. 

"  I  should  think,  Margaret,"  she  added  pres- 
ently, "  that  mere  selfishness  would  make  you 
more  particular.  How,  with  your  hoydenish 
manners,  will  you  ever  get  a  husband  ? " 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  !  Why,  I  am  already 
engaged  to  be  married,  aunt." 

I  don't  know  who  expressed  the  most  aston- 
ishment at  this  open  avowal,  but  my  aunt  was 
manifestly  relieved,  and  declared  that  had  she 
been  aware  of  it  she  would  not  have  introduced 
me  to  her  set  under  false  colors,  but  it  was  too 
late  now  to  amend.  They  urged  me  in  vain  to 
tell  them  the  name  of  my  future  spouse — an 
oyster  could  not  have  been  more  reticent  It 
was  not  because  there  is  a  prospect  of  Harry's 
commencing  his  practice  here,  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  Dr.  B. ;  but  I  felt,  aunty,  that  far 
down  beneath  all  these  impulsive  exhibitions 


216  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

of  feeling  that  they  so  quarrel  with,  there 
was  a  fountain  of  joy  that  a  stranger  must  not 
intermeddle  with.  I  have  written  to  Harry 
that  for  some  reasons  satisfactory  to  myself  I 
occupy  a  humble  position  in  my  aunt's  circle, 
and  begging  him,  if  he  comes  here,  to  conceal 
our  previous  acquaintance  for  a  time.  Do  you 
think  he  will  ?  He  is  so  straightforward  and 
truthful  that  I  fear  he  will  not  consent  to  the 
appearance  of  deceit,  and  I  often  feel  that  I  am 
acting  an  unworthy  part.  What  do  you  think  ? 
Your  own  MAGGIE. 

BOSTON,  January  2O. 

DEAR  AUNT  MARY  :  Harry  is  here ;  that  is, 
he  is  in  the  city.  My  aunt  and  cousins  have 
met  him  twice  in  society,  and  he  has  called  here 
once.  Before  he  came,  however,  I  received 
sundry  little  notes  full  of  protestations  against 
the  deception,  of  which  we  should  both  be 
guilty  if  we  met  as  strangers  ;  to  which  I  unva- 
ryingly replied  that  if  he  felt  so  seriously  about 
it  he  had  better  quiet  his  conscience  by  staying 
away  altogether. 

My  aunt  is  in  raptures.  She  can  find  no 
words  sufficiently  expressive  of  her  admiration 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    217 

whenever  his  name  is  mentioned,  which  is  about 
four  times  an  hour.  It  appears  that  the  circle 
in  which  he  might  move  as  a  protege  of  Dr. 
B.'s  is  a  peg  higher  than  ours,  and  his  coming 
among  us  is  therefore  a  condescension,  and  only 
to  be  accounted  for  on  the  ground  of  some  irre- 
sistible attraction. 

"  Of  course,  Margaret,"  said  my  aunt,  "  you 
are  not  a  judge  of  elegant  society,  but  I  think 
his  appearance  must  have  impressed  even  you. 
What  did  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  was — I — that  is,  I  like  him  very 
much."  Recovering  myself  from  the  transient 
confusion  that  had  seized  me  on  being  thus  ap- 
pealed to,  I  added,  "  Very  likely  he  is  as  poor  as 
a  church  mouse." 

"He  has  position,  Margaret,"  said  my  aunt 
in  a  rather  displeased  tone,  "  and  a  few  years 
of  practice  will  make  him  wealthy  if  he  is  not 
so  already.  To  be  sure,"  she  added  reflectively, 
and  quite  unconsciously  too,  "  an  early  day  for 
the  wedding  would  relieve  us  of  some  straits  ; 
but  it  would  be  better  to  commence  in  good 
style  even  if — " 

"  Mamma  !  Mamma ! "  interrupted  Harriet, 
"  you  are  thinking  aloud." 


218  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Dr.  Hazeltine,  aunt. 
Is  he  to  be  married  soon  ? "  I  asked,  with  very 
considerable  promptness. 

"  How  you  color,  Margaret !  If  you  had  not 
told  me  of  your  engagement  I  should  be  suspi- 
cious of  you." 

My  aunt  went  on  with  her  day-dream  as  if 
she  had  not  been  interrupted,  and  it  was  settled 
that  as  nothing  but  some  special  attraction 
could  have  drawn  Harry  into  our  set,  and  as  no 
other  young  lady  could  boast  of  the  accomplish- 
ments and  grace  of  my  cousin  Harriet,  it  was 
as  clear  as  sunlight  that  a  more  intimate  ac- 
quaintance would  result  in  a  settlement  for  my 
cousin,  and  a  breathing  spell  for  us  all. 

I  felt  positively  wicked  while  this  delightful 
picture  was  being  drawn  ;  it  seemed  so  like  act- 
ing a  lie  to  remain  silent ;  but  what  right  have 
they  to  a  knowledge  of  my  affairs  ?  Should  I 
get  up  and  say,  "  If  you  pltase,  aunt,  I  shall 
claim  Harry  myself  ? "  I  only  occupy  the  posi- 
tion in  which  they  placed  me,  and,  as  Dr.  Hazel- 
tine  will  never  bestow  a  serious  thought  upon 
Harriet,  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  wronging  them 
by  keeping  my  own  counsel.  Good-night,  dear 
aunt,  I  shall  write  again  soon.  MAGGIE. 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    219 

BOSTON,  January  23. 

DEAR  AUNT  :  You  have  hardly  got  my  last 
letter,  but  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  so  I 
write  again,  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  ever 
mentioned  to  you  that,  in  order  to  have  an  ob- 
ject for  which  to  walk  often,  I  followed  your 
advice,  and  sought  out  a  number  of  poor  fami- 
lies. In  the  course  of  my  calls  among  them  I 
have  several  times  met  Harry,  who  officiates 
gratuitously  among  the  same  destitute  classes, 
and  is  often  beforehand  with  me  in  relieving 
their  wants.  I  wear  a  little  close  hood  and 
a  double  vail,  and  have  managed,  as  I  sup- 
posed, to  pass  him  without  being  known  till  this 
morning. 

Once  or  twice,  however,  some  casual  remark 
of  his  at  my  aunt's,  where  he  still  visits  regu- 
larly, had  led  me  to  doubt  his  ignorance  of  my 
movements,  and  to  suspect  that  our  frequent 
meetings  could  not  be  wholly  accidental. 

This  morning,  as  I  entered  the  door  of  a  small 
attic  chamber,  I  was  startled  by  the  cry,  "  O, 
Miss,  the  baby's  had  a  fit !  " 

I  hurried  to  the  straw  couch  on  which  the 
baby  lay  asleep,  and,  throwing  back  my  vail, 
asked  the  mother  if  it  was  out  of  danger. 


22O  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

"Yes,  Miss  But  it  was  a  powerful  hard 
one." 

"  Have  you  had  a  doctor  ? " 

"  Yes,  Miss,  he  saved  its  life.  It  was  just  dy- 
ing like  when  he  came  in.  He  is  only  now  gone 
home  to  fetch  some  drops  for  it.  Ah,  here  he 
comes ! " 

Before  I  could  drop  my  vail,  Harry  stood  by 
my  side.  He  did  not  look  at  all  surprised  to 
see  me  there,  but,  slightly  bowing  to  me,  he 
began  to  drop  the  mixture  he  had  brought  into 
a  teacup. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  run,  and  as  soon  as 
he  turned  to  the  child  I  tried  to  pass  him  noise- 
lessly, but  he  heard  me  and  faced  me  directly. 
You  should  have  seen  the  amused  expression  of 
his  countenance  as  his  eye  rapidly  glanced  over 
my  strange  attire.  "You  look  like  a  gipsy, 
Maggie,"  was  his  first  flattering  remark. 

"  Suppose  you  attend  to  your  patient,"  I  re- 
sponded in  a  vexed  tone. 

"  I  will  if  you  will  promise  to  remain  till  I 
leave.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  I  sha'n't  promise." 

"  Then  I'll  call  at  your  aunt's  and  ask  for  a 
private  interview." 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    22 1 

"  O,  Harry,"  I  said  in  alarm,  "  I'm  sure  you 
wont  do  that ! " 

"  Wait  for  me,  then." 

Seeing  that  he  was  determined,  I  submitted, 
resolved,  however,  to  vex  him  heartily  as  soon 
as  an  opportunity  presented.  When  we  were 
fairly  in  the  street  he  began :  "  Now,  Maggie, 
tell  me  why  I  am  to  visit  at  your  aunt's  as  a 
stranger  to  you." 

"  I  wrote  the  reason  to  you." 

"  It  was  no  reason  at  all.  It  does  not  satisfy 
me.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  acting  a  part  beneath 
me,  and  I  shall  not  continue  my  visits  unless 
I  can  come  in  my  true  character  as  your 
betrothed." 

"  As  you  please,"  I  answered,  for  I  was  vexed 
with  his  dictatorial  manner.  You  remember 
how  he  made  me  come  in  the  house  when  I 
wanted  to  watch  the  heavy  shower  from  the  hill. 
He  had  the  same  manner  now  as  if  I  were  a 
spoiled  child.  But  it  changed  instantly  when  he 
saw  how  it  annoyed  me  ;  and  though  I  do  like 
to  be  governed  sometimes,  I  was  glad  to  see  his 
glance  become  more  gentle. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Maggie.  It  is  natural  that, 
after  being  so  long  absent  from  you,  I  should 


222  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

wish  for  a  little  of  your  society  I  have  a  thou- 
sand plans  for  the  future  in  which  you  are  con- 
cerned, and  some  professional  trials  that  I  could 
almost  forget  in  your  presence  ;  but  because  of 
some  absurd  whim,  unworthy  of  us  both,  I  am 
denied  access  to  you,  and  only  get  stray  glimpses 
of  you  when  I  call  at  your  home.  Now,  you 
must  give  me  some  reasonable  motive  for  con- 
tinuing this  course  or  I  shall  rebel." 

A  ludicrous  perception  of  the  only  reason 
that  could  be  given  here  completely  upset  my 
vexation  and  gravity  together,  and  I  laughed  till 
the  tears  covered  my  cheeks.  He  did  not  join 
in  my  mirth,  but  his  stern  look  of  surprise  did 
not  serve  to  abridge  it  in  the  least,  and  I  think 
he  was  considering,  as  a  physician,  whether  I 
was  not  a  fit  subject  for  a  straight-jacket  when 
I  recovered  my  composure. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Harry.    I  am  very  sorry." 

"  You  trifle  with  me,  Maggie.  Is  my  attach- 
ment to  you  so  very  ridiculous  that — " 

"  No,  no,  I  was  thinking  of  something  else. 
Indeed,  Harry,  I  could  not  help  laughing,"  said 
I  penitently,  swallowing  as  I  spoke  a  huge 
giggle,  "  and  if  you  insist  on  knowing  every 
thing — " 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    223 

"  I  insist  on  knowing  whether  this  blind  game 
in  which  I  am  your  partner  is  worth  the  trouble 
of  playing.  I  am  tired  of  being  a  mere  puppet." 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  if  I  must  be  a  tattler 
and  gossip  in  order  to  please  you,  I  think  you 
need  not  look  so  cross  about  it.  I  always  have 
to  yield  my  will  to  yours,  and  I  suppose  if  I  were 
a  few  years  younger  you  would  shut  me  in  a  dark 
room  for  disobedience." 

"  But  this  is  not  the  reason  for  our  meeting 
on  such  strange  terms."  He  was  smiling  again, 
but  I  saw  he  would  not  be  put  off,  so  I  began : 
"  Listen,  then.  In  the  first  place,  my  aunt  is 
extremely  desirous  to  marry  Harriet  well.  I 
favor  the  plan  because  it  will  improve  our  short 
commons  at  home,  and  a  'goneness'  at  the 
stomach  is  nearly  as  trying  as  a  vacuum  in  the 
brain.  You  understand  ?  There  will  be  one 
mouth  less  to  fill." 

Dear  Aunt  Mary,  you  should  have  seen  his 
wondering  glance. 

"  In  the  second  place,"  I  continued,  "my  aunt, 
though  disgusted  with  my  free  ways,  has  taken 
it  into  her  head  that  my  passable  form  and  face 
and  eligible  fortune,  together  with  sundry  ac- 
complishments that  you  wot  of,  would  take  the 


224  "-^  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on," 

wind  out  of  the  sails  of  my  fair  cousin,  and  has 
kindly  advised  me  to  hide  my  light  under  a 
bushel  for  a  season." 

"And  that  is  why  you  never  play  or  sing. 
How  ridiculous ! " 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  if  you  please.  Further- 
more, my  aunt  has  just  fixed  on  a  certain  young 
M.  D.,  who  has  just  began  to  enjoy  the  delights 
of  our  circle,  as  the  future — " 

"  Nonsense,  Maggie.  Look  here,  I  wonder  if 
you  are  still  trifling  with  me." 

I  suppose  his  long  study  of  my  face  convinced 
him  that  there  was  more  truth  than  poetry  in 
what  I  had  told  him.  "  And  so  you  are  not  pin- 
ing for  your  country  pleasures,  but  are  growing 
pale  and  thin  for  want  of — of — " 

"  Victuals." 

He  laughed  in  spite  of  his  vexation. 

"  But  then,  Harry,  we  have  so  many  refined 
associations.  Ah,  you  should  see  the  elegance 
of  our  tea  equipage  !  I  declare,"  I  added,  sud- 
denly breaking  out  into  my  free,  natural  manner, 
"  if  I  ever  get  back  to  Hubbardsville,  where  I 
can  order  a  dinner,  it  will  not  be  made  of  stewed 
shadows.  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  I  mean 
to  have  a  farmer's  boiled  dinner  daguerreotyped 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    225 

and  hung   in   my  room   if   I    stay  here  much 
longer." 

He  was  still  laughing,  and  without  the  least 
reason,  so  I  snatched  my  arm  away  and — we 
were  in  the  park — running  a  few  steps  took  a 
long  slide  on  a  strip  of  ice  which  was  nearly 
worn  out  by  the  boys.  The  amazed  looks  of 
the  numerous  promenaders  completed  Harry's 
fun,  and  it  was  with  a  voice  fairly  choking  with 
merriment  that  he  begged  me  to  be  quiet  and 
listen  to  him. 

"  In  the  first  place,  to  adopt  your  own  method- 
ical manner,  you  must  have  a  little  more  regard 
for  the  usages  of  society,  and  not  run  wild,  as  you 
did  just  now,  at  the  mere  sight  of  a  bit  of  ice." 

"  A  lecture.  You  are  going  to  scold.  I  wont 
stay  with  you  to  be  scolded."  But  he  held  my 
hand  fast. 

"  I  shall  keep  you,"  he  said,  "  and  lecture  you 
too.  I'm  sure  you  need  it." 

"  Need  it !  "  I  repeated  scornfully.  "  As  if  I 
didn't  breakfast,  dine,  and  sup  on  lectures.  I 
dream  of  them  nights,  and  there  isn't  a  breath 
of  wind  that  whistles  down  our  exclusive  chim- 
ney but  repeats  over  and  over, '  Don't,  Margaret, 
O  !  why  will  you  ? " 


226  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

"  Incorrigible !  But  I  have  something  else 
to  say.  Suppose  you  leave  those  fractious 
colts  to  be  subdued  by  their  driver  and  attend 
to  me." 

"My  ears  are  at  your  service,"  I  replied 
saucily,  for  the  horses  referred  to  did  so  re- 
semble our  pretty  grays  at  home  that  I  could 
not  bear  to  lose  sight  of  them.  How  they 
made  me  long  for  a  free  gallop  over  the  open 
country ! 

"  Now,  Maggie,"  said  Harry  when  the  colts 
were  out  of  sight,  "  I  am  going  to  take  you  home 
next  week,  to  Aunt  Mary's.  I  am  not  going  to 
see  you  lose  your  health  and  spirits  for  such 
absurd  reasons." 

"  You  forget  papa's  wish." 

"  No  I  do  not.  He  wished  you  to  spend  your 
eighteenth  year  here  unless  you  were  married." 

"Well?" 

"  Don't  you  understand  ? " 

I  wasn't  such  a  puss  but  that  I  had  frequently 
planned  the  same  way  of  shortening  my  exile  ; 
but,  of  course,  I  did  not  let  him  know  it,  and  he 
must  have  thought  me  unusually  dull,  it  took  so 
long  to  make  me  comprehend  him. 

"  Do  you  object  to  my  plan,  Maggie  ? " 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    227 

"No.  I  shall  be  very  glad.  At  least,"  I 
added  on  second  thought,  "  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  see  Aunt  Mary." 

"  Shall  I  speak  to  your  Aunt  Augusta  ? " 

"  No,  indeed  !  Do  you  want  to  see  me  anni- 
hilated ?  She  will  find  out  soon  enough  all  that 
she  needs  to  know.  Aint  you  ashamed  of  your- 
self for  making  me  divulge  her  plans  ? " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Nor  sorry  for  Harriet's  disappointment  ? " 

"  No.     I  think  she  will  survive  it." 

Just  then  whom  should  we  meet,  walking  rap- 
idly toward  us,  but  Aunt  Augusta  herself,  who 
was  out  shopping.  You  can  imagine  her  sur- 
prise and  anger  at  meeting  me  so  accompanied. 
But  she  only  bowed  and  passed  on.  I  turned 
in  dismay  to  Harry.  His  face  was  radiant  with 
delight.  Selfish  fellow !  I  believe  he  was 
heartily  glad  of  the  inopportune  meeting. 

"  Murder  will  out,"  was  his  first  consolatory 
speech. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  look  so  happy.  It  is  noth- 
ing to  you." 

"  Indeed !  You  make  me  think  of  an  Irish 
woman  that  I  met  this  morning.  She  was  car- 
rying a  huge  turkev,  and  just  before  I  came  up 


228  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on" 

with  her  she  met  a  negro,  who  made  quite  a  dis- 
play of  ivory  as  his  eyes  fell  on  her  burden.  '  It 
aint  your  turkey.  You  needn't  grin,'  said  the 
woman.  You  are  saying  the  same  thing  to  me, 
Maggie.  Only,  you  see,  it  isn't  quite  true,  be- 
cause I  have  an  interest  in  the  turkey." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  What  does  your  own  heart  tell  you  ? " 

"  It  bidi  me  speak  the  truth,  and  to  ask  my 
aunt's  pardon  for  allowing  her  to  be  deceived." 

"  It  whispers  good  advice  and  points  out  the 
only  honorable  course.  I  will  go  with  you  to 
the  door.  But,  first,  when  will  you  leave  Boston 
with  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  must  consult  Aunt  Mary 
before  I  decide,"  I  replied  with  sudden  prudence. 

"  I  will  spend  this  evening  with  you,  and  we 
will  both  write  to  her." 

I  did  not  object ;  my  hardihood  had  quite  de- 
serted me.  I  was  alive  to  only  one  idea,  that 
at  last  my  aunt  had  a  just  reason  for  lecturing 
me.  Had  I  known  how  little  my  transgression 
of  moral  principle  would  affect  her,  I  should 
have  felt  less  anxiety. 

I  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense,  for  I  had 
scarcely  put  my  cloak  and  fur*  away  before 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    229 

Hannah  brought  a  summons  for  me  to  come 
down  to  the  dining-room.  Notwithstanding  the 
blame  that  I  was  conscious  belonged  to  me,  I 
could  hardly  forbear  laughing  aloud  at  the  lugu- 
brious faces  that  were  turned  toward  the  door 
as  I  entered.  I  sat  down  in  silence. 

"  Margaret,"  said  my  aunt,  "  I  think  you 
must  have  guessed  my  object  in  sending  for 
you." 

"  Yes,  aunt."  I  was  resolved  to  be  truthful 
now. 

"  How  long  had  you  been  walking  with  Dr. 
Hazeltine  when  we  met." 

"  About  an  hour." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  him  ? " 

"  At  Mrs.  Crosby's.  She  is  the  poor  seam- 
stress who  made  up  my  Thibet." 

"  How  came  the  doctor  there  ?  " 

"  Her  baby  had  a  fit,  and  he  was  called  in." 

My  aunt's  bent  brows  relaxed  a  little,  but  a 
new  thought  occurred  to  her. 

"  Have  you  ever  walked  with  him  before  ? " 

"  Yes,  may  times."  The  frown  deepened 
again. 

"  When  and  where  ? "  she  asked  sternly. 

"  His  father's  place  joins  mine  in  Hubbards- 


230  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on. " 

ville.  He  took  care  of  me  when  I  first  went 
to  school,  and — and  —  we  were  always  ac- 
quainted." 

"  And  he  knows  your  intended  husband,"  in- 
terrupted Harriet  eagerly  ;  "  that  accounts  for 
his  intimacy  with  you." 

"  lie  ought  to  know  the  person  you  mention, 
Harriet,  for  it  is  to  himself  that  I  am  engaged." 

Harriet's  face  was  scarlet,  but  she  remained 
silent. 

"  May  I  ask,  Margaret,"  said  her  mother, 
"  why  you  have  deceived  us  about  this  ac- 
quaintance ? " 

"  I  only  obeyed  your  wishes.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  Dr.  Hazeltine  would  have  allowed 
people  to  think  that  I  was  the  rude,  unculti- 
vated girl  that  you  represent  me  if  our  engage- 
ment had  been  known?" 

"  And  so  while  I  thought  him  wholly  en- 
grossed by  Harriet's  charms,  he  was  here  in 
reality  to — " 

"  Contemplate  mine.  I  am  sorry,  aunt,  that 
I  so  foolishly  submitted  to  your  plan  at  fiist, 
but  I  had  then  no  idea  that  Dr.  Hazeltine 
would  commence  his  practice  here,  and  I  did 
not  care  for  society." 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on?    231 

"  But  as  the  cousin  of  the  rich  Miss  Arnold, 
the  betrothed  of  Dr.  Hazletine,  my  Harriet 
might  so  easily  have  gained  admittance  into 
the  exclusive  society  at  Dr.  B.'s." 

"  It  is  too  late,  aunt.  Dr.  Hazeltine  is  com- 
ing this  evening  to  arrange  the  time  for  my  re- 
turn to  Hubbardsville." 

"  I  thought,  Margaret,  that  you  were  under 
some  obligation  to  remain  here  a  year.  It  is 
not  two  months,  and  I  have  calculated  on 
your  board  payment  for  Harriet's  spring 
hat." 

Her  intense  selfishness  restored  my  old  mis- 
chievous propensity,  so  I  replied  :  "  The  obliga- 
tion ceases  with  my  marriage.  Besides,  don't 
you  see  that  if  I  remain  the  truth  must  come 
out  ?  To  be  sure,  my  country  manners  will  be 
beautiful  eccentricities  as  soon  as  it  is  known 
that  I  am  rich,  but  that  will  not  blind  people  to 
the  cheat." 

"  That  is  all  easily  managed,"  said  my  aunt. 
"  People  will  soon  understand  that,  wishing  to 
avoid  the  attentions  that  beset  an  heiress,  you 
chose  to  be  considered  poor.  It  will  sound  ro- 
mantic, too,  because  your  devotion  to  your  affi- 
anced husband  will  be  a  charming  reason  for 


232  "A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on." 

your  seclusion,  and  his  visits  here  will  only  be 
attributed  to  the  right  cause." 

"  How  much  better  to  be  always  truthful ! "  I 
said. 

"  There  will  still  be  an  advantage,  girls,"  con- 
tinued Aunt  Augusta  cheerfully  ;  "  they  will 
icside  in  the  city,  of  course,  that  he  may  con- 
tinue his  practice,  and  under  the  auspices  of 
your  cousin,  my  dears,  you  can  improve  your 
present  prospects  materially." 

I  inwardly  resolved  that  neither  Harry  nor 
myself  should  serve  as  stepping-stones  for  the 
young  misses  before  me,  and,  as  a  foundation 
for  future  action,  I  declined  their  offers  to  serve 
as  bridesmaids,  and  also  my  aunt's  wish  to 
spend  a  month  at  Hubbardsville  and  oversee 
the  wedding  preparations.  I  am  sure  that  we 
need  no  advice,  and  as  to  being  married  in 
"  genteel  style,"  as  my  aunt  phrases  it,  I  would 
sooner  live  single  forever. 

Harry  came  in  the  evening,  and  we  had  the 
back  parlor  to  ourselves.  He  was  the  same 
merry  fellow  who  used  to  help  me  pop  corn  in 
your  kitchen,  Aunt  Mary,  and  we  agreed  that 
our  first  act  after  reaching  home  should  be  the 
finishing  of  the  game  at  snow-balling  that  we 


"A  Patch  on  the  Knee  and  Gloves  on"    233 

began  before  he  went  to  college.  I  shall  not 
write  again  before  I  come  home.  Indeed,  this 
letter  is  long  enough  for  three.  Harry's  letter 
will  tell  you  when  to  expect  us,  and  till  then  I 
remain  your  affectionate  MAGGIE. 


SYMPATHY. 


Sympathy.  235 


SYMPATHY. 


REMARKABLE  woman  was  Miss  Dor- 
othy Webb.  Every  body  acknowledged 
that.  She  had  been  a  remarkable  child,  a 
remarkable  young  damsel,  and  had  ripened  nat- 
urally and  without  effort  into  the  remarkable 
woman.  She  was  remarkable  in  more  ways 
than  one,  as  most  sensible  women  are ;  but  she 
had  her  forte,  her  hobby,  her  particular  re- 
markability.  Miss  Dorothy's  specialty  was 
sympathy. 

In  this  cold  world,  where  personal  interests 
and  individual  cares  or  aches  seem  to  shut 
most  people  into  themselves,  what  power  so 
sweet,  what  gift  so  delightful,  as  the  ability  to 
enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  sad-hearted,  or 
overtasked  wayfarers  along  life's  journey,  and 
so  bear  another's  burden  as  to  fulfill  the  law  of 
Christ ! 

"  Are  you  going  out,  Dorothy  ?  " 

It  was  a  sweet  voice,  indeed,  that  asked  this 
16 


236  Sympathy. 

question  ;  but  Miss  Dorothy  turned  from  the 
looking-glass,  where  she  was  arranging  her  col- 
lar, with  an  expression  on  her  face  that  would 
have  been  un amiable,  to  say  the  least,  if  she 
had  not  been  a  remarkable  woman. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  out.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Only  because  I  thought  I  would  go  over 
and  try  on  little  Nannie's  dress  if  you  were 
going  to  be  at  home.  You  do  not  like  to  have 
the  house  left  to  itself,  you  know.  Perhaps  I 
could  slip  over  there  now  and  get  back  before 
you  leave  ;  in  half  an  hour,  any  way." 

"  No,  I  am  going  directly.  And  if  any  one 
calls  while  I  am  out  I  want  to  know  it.  I  shall 
be  back  early,  so  you  need  not  look  so  dis- 
appointed." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Nannie's  disappointment. 
She  is  depending  on  having  the  dress  done  this 
week." 

"  Beggars  musn't  be  choosers,  Sister  Ruth." 

"  No,  but  the  little  thing  has  set  her  heart  on 
going  to  the  Sabbath-school  next  Sunday,  and 
she  has  so  few  pleasures.  But  perhaps  I  can 
finish  it  if  I  work  on  it  this  evening  instead  of 
going  to  class-meeting." 

"  I  wonder,  Ruth,"  said  Miss  Dorothy,  angrily, 


Sympathy.  237 

"  that  you  will  tie  yourself  down  to  this  kind  of 
work.  You  are  never  free  from  it.  You  don't 
give  yourself  the  least  leisure  to  go  out  among 
people  and  find  out  their  troubles,  and  give 
them  a  helping  word  in  season.  You  tire  your- 
self till  even  our  light  housekeeping  is  a  burden 
to  you.  You  haven't  time  even  to  dress  your- 
self properly.  I  was  quite  mortified  when  Mrs. 
Fielding  called  on  us." 

"  Susie  Fielding  ?  "  Aunt  Ruthy  brightened 
at  the  name  in  spite  of  her  sister's  lecture.  "  She 
is  one  of  my  dearest  friends,  Dorothy." 

"  So  it  seems.  I  can't  understand  it,  though. 
Do  you  hear  what  she  said  when  you  came  into 
the  parlor  in  that  loose  wrapper,  and  your  face 
as  red  as  fire  ?  " 

"  I  was  ironing,  Dorothy.  But  what  did  she 
say  ?  Nothing  unkind,  I  know." 

"  She  said,  '  Your  sister  is  altered  since  I  saw 
her.  But  her  husband  was  alive  then,  and  he 
would  not  permit  her  to  be  a  household  drudge.' 
Those  were  her  very  words,  and  she  looked  as 
if  she  thought  somebody  was  to  blame  about  it. 
Of  course,  I  didn't  tell  her  that  you  were  hur- 
rying the  ironing  to  get  time  to  go  over  and 
dress  old  Paul  Dunbar's  blisters." 


238  Sympathy. 

"  Poor  old  man  ! "  said  Aunt  Ruthy  softly, 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  he  is  almost  home. 
•He  wont  live  through  this  week.  His  troubles 
are  almost  over.  I  must  go  in  there  this  even- 
ing. It  is  like  standing  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 
Such  a  good,  happy  old  Christian  ! "  Aunt 
Ruthy  added  dreamily.  "  May  my  last  end  be 
like  his  ! " 

She  left  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and  Miss 
Dorothy  turned  again  to  the  glass. 

"  Poor  Ruthy !  "  she  sighed.  "  How  different 
we  are !  We  were  never  alike  as  children. 
And  now  she  is  too  old  to  change.  Two  years 
older  than  I  am.  She  looks  ten  years  older," 
said  Miss  Dorothy,  with  a  gratified  glance  into 
the  mirror.  "  She  is  not  to  blame,  poor  thing," 
she  went  on,  "if  she  cannot  enter  into  my  feel- 
ings or  understand  my  work.  I  think  she  does 
appreciate  my  talents,  and  she  never  hinders  me 
in  any  way." 

Miss  Dorothy  was  really  a  fine-looking  wom- 
an ;  that  is,  she  became  one  as  her  toilet  pro- 
gressed. Take  out  her  false  teeth,  and  remove 
those  dark,  glossy  braids  of  hair  ;  forbid  the 
use  of  the  pearl  powders  that  whitened  her 
skin,  and  you  would  see  a  somewhat  surprising 


Sympathy.  239 

change  in  her  appearance.  If  her  house  had 
taken  fire  at  night,  and  she  had  been  rescued 
from  the  flames  in  her  unadorned  loveliness,  it 
is  a  question  whether  her  most  familiar  friends 
could  have  recognized  her ;  but  now,  in  her 
street  costume,  with  a  bran  new  chignon,  Miss 
Dorothy  was  decidedly  well  "got  up,"  and  well 
looking  too. 

She  knew  it,  and  it  made  her  mission  more 
agreeable.  She  was  going  out  on  purpose  to 
sympathize  with  her  fellow-creatures,  and  it 
was  pleasant  to  make  a  good  impression  as  to 
looks. 

"Ah,  these  people  who  confine  themselves 
so  closely  to  what  they  call  home  duties  little 
realize  the  good  they  could  do  if  they  would  go 
out  and  condole  with  their  fellow-creatures.  It 
wouldn't  be  such  a  cold,  dreary  world  to  live 
in,"  said  Miss  Dorothy  with  a  gush  of  senti- 
ment, "  if  selfishness  could  be  overcome  or  even 
occasionally  set  aside.  Every  body  has  more 
or  less  of  trouble,  and  every  body  needs  sym- 
pathy. Now,  if  every  body  would  do  their 
share,  what  a  lightening  of  heavy  burdens,  what 
a  cheering  of  drooping  spirits  would  result !  " 

Miss  Dorothy  had  never  had  any  particular 


240  Sympathy. 

experience  of  sorrow  or  disappointment.  Ex- 
cepting the  strange  blindness  of  the  stronger 
sex  which  had  kept  her  in  a  state  of  forced 
celibacy,  just  as  if  she  had  been  a  Roman 
Catholic  priest,  she  had  managed  to  have  her 
own  way  in  life.  She  and  her  widowed  sister 
lived  alone  in  a  pretty  cottage  which  they  had 
inherited  from  their  parents,  and  their  income 
was  sufficient  for  their  support  in  a  plain,  com- 
fortable way  ;  not  large  enough  for  both  sisters 
to  live  fashionably  idle,  and  so  the  kitchen  work 
fell  naturally  into  the  hands  of  Aunt  Ruth,  who, 
having  had  and  lost  a  family  of  her  own,  was 
supposed  to  be  posted  in  all  the  mysteries  of 
housekeeping.  Miss  Dorothy  often  said,  with 
truth,  that  she  had  never  been  sick  in  her  life. 
Even  the  indispensable  ailments  of  childhood, 
such  as  the  measles  and  hooping-cough,  had 
touched  her  so  lightly  as  to  leave  no  remem- 
brance of  them.  Her  parents  had  dropped  off 
in  a  good  old  age,  like  shocks  of  corn  fully  ripe. 

"  That,  of  course,  was  to  be  expected  of  old 
people,"  was  Miss  Dorothy's  rejoinder  to  her 
pastor's  attempt  to  comfort  her  after  the  last 
funeral  was  over. 

But  Miss  Dorothy's  lack  of  sorrowful  experi- 


Sympathy.  241 

ence  only  made  her  assumption  of  the  office  of 
general  comforter  more  meritorious.  She  was 
not  governed  by  feeling  but  by  principle. 

"  If  I  were  swayed  by  impulses,  as  Ruth  is,  I 
could  accomplish  nothing.  I  don't  wait  for  the 
selfish  leadings  of  the  natural  heart.  Ruth," 
she  called  from  the  hall  as  she  opened,  the  front 
door  to  go  out,  "  I  am  going  as  far  as  Betsey 
Craig's  if  I  have  time.  If  you  get  tea  ready  by 
six  o'clock  it  will  do.  Do  you  hear,  Ruth  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  hear.     I  will  see  to  it." 

Ruth  had  put  by  little  Nannie's  frock,  and 
was  now  knitting  on  some  warm  socks  for  a 
family  of  poor  little  children  up  in  Irish  Row. 
She  was,  as  Miss  Dorothy  had  complained, 
always  busy  with  something  of  the  kind. 

"  You  see,"  she  would  say  apologetically,  "  I 
haven't  Sister  Dorothy's  talents,  and  I  like  to 
knit  and  sew.  It  puts  me  out  to  call  on  people, 
and — and  I  couldn't  on  any  account  advise 
them  about  their  affairs,  but  I  can  slip  into  one 
of  those  poor  cabins  and  leave  a  little  flannel 
shirt  or  a  pair  of  warm  stockings,  and  run  home 
again  before  any  body  knows  a  thing  about  it. 
Ah,  what  a  number  of  half-clothed  people  live 
in  that  one  wretched  alley ! " 


242  Sympathy. 

Those  poor  neglected  people  were  on  her 
mind  all  the  afternoon  after  her  sister  left.  How 
could  they  be  effectually  helped  ? 

"  God  pity  them  ! "  she  said  sadly.  "  The 
winter  is  coming  fast  now.  I  must  look  over 
my  poplin  dress.  If  the  skirt  can  be  turned 
upside  down  it  will  do  for  another  season,  and 
then  I  can  manage  to  send  a  load  of  coal  to 
poor  Widow  Thompson.  What  a  hard  life  she 
has,  poor  thing !  with  her  six  children  and  that 
lame  boy.  Yes,  the  poplin  must  do  somehow. 
I  don't  see  how  she  has  any  courage  to  live. 
If  I  had  Sister  Dorothy's  talent  I  could  sym- 
pathize with  her.  Still,  talking  does  not  seem 
to  be  just  what  she  needs.  I  couldn't  speak  a 
word  when  I  found  them  so  poor.  I  just  put  a 
little  money  in  her  hand,  and  ran  home  and 
cried.  I  must  do  better  than  that  the  next  time. 
Ah,  well,"  continued  Aunt  Ruth,  resignedly, 
though  she  was  crying  again  as  she  remembered 
the  scene,  "  I  must  not  be  discouraged.  Harry 
used  to  say  I  did  nicely.  Nicely.  How  he 
used  to  praise  all  my  efforts  to  use  my  one  little 
talent !  Well,  well,  I  will  do  what  I  can.  The 
Master  knows  all  about  it." 

A  peaceful  look  came  over  her  face,  and  she 


Sympathy.  243 

began    to   sing   softly  an  old  tune  learned  in 
childhood : 

"  What  I  do  Thou  knowest  well ; 

What  I  have  not  skill  to  do 
Glad  I  leave  to  stronger  hands, 
Satisfied  if  thy  commands 
I  obey  with  spirit  true." 

In  the  mean  time  Miss  Dorothy  was  slowly 
pacing  down  the  pleasant  street  enjoying  the 
warm  October  sunshine,  comfortably  intent  upon 
the  fulfillment  of  her  mission,  and  on  the  look- 
out for  chance  objects  of  interest.  She  half 
paused  before  a  house  that  stood  directly  on  the 
street  without  any  pretense  of  a  door-yard,  and 
then  passed  on  shaking  her  head  decidedly. 

"There  is  no  use  in  calling  there.  Charity 
Pearce's  tongue  runs  from  morning  till  night. 
I  can  never  finish  a  sentence  without  being 
interrupted.  She  doesn't  seem  to  have  the 
least  idea  of  what  I  am  saying,  but  strikes  in 
with  something  entirely  foreign  to  the  subject. 
She  will  always  be  a  cripple,  and  any  body 
would  think  she  would  feel  interested  about  it ; 
but  the  very  last  time  I  tried  to  express  my 
pity  for  her  she  broke  right  in  with  a  question 
about  the  prices  of  cotton  cloth.  And  when  I 
told  her  about  Captain  Blank,  who  has  just  such 


244  Sympathy. 

a  foot  as  hers,  and  suffers  unheard-of  tortures 
night  and  day,  I  declare  I  had  to  raise  my  voice 
so  high  to  bring  it  above  hers  that  it  made  me 
hoarse.  I  suppose  that  we  together  made  con- 
siderable noise,  and  I  am  sure  her  sister  was 
laughing  when  she  went  out  of  the  room  so 
suddenly.  No,  I'll  not  go  in  there.  Charity 
Pearce  may  do  her  own  comforting." 

Still  smarting  with  the  sense  of  personal 
injury  caused  by  this  remembrance  of  the  crip- 
ple's indifference  and  bad  manners,  Miss  Dor- 
othy crossed  the  street  and  came  to  a  stand 
opposite  Dr.  Ludlow's  office.  That  young  phy- 
sician was  just  starting  off  on  a  round  of  pro- 
fessional calls,  but  he  waited  politely  when  she 
accosted  him.  He  looked  exceedingly  bright 
and  happy,  as  a  prosperous  physician  should. 
There  were  two  special  causes  for  his  bright 
looks  now.  One  of  his  patients,  who  had  for 
several  days  been  balancing  between  life  and 
death,  had  passed  the  crisis  of  his  disease,  and 
was  out  of  danger. 

The  other  cause  for  rejoicing  was  not  a  pub- 
lic matter  at  all.  The  doctor  would  not  have 
thought  of  mentioning  it  to  Miss  Dorothy,  but  it 
made  his  heart  just  as  warm  as  a  toast  for  all 


Sympathy.  245 

that.  He  kept  thinking  it  over,  how  only  last 
evening  that  prettiest,  daintiest,  sweetest  of  all 
earth's  charming  daughters,  fair  Alice  Howard, 
had  promised  to  be  his  wife  when  the  new  year 
came  in.  In  spite  of  his  natural  courtesy,  his 
new  happiness  made  him  somewhat  absent- 
minded,  and  Miss  Dorothy  had  a  little  trouble 
to  bring  him  back  to  prosy,  matter-of-fact  life. 

"  Good  morning,  doctor,"  she  said.  "  I  need 
not  ask  if  you  are  well.  You  look  as  cheerful 
and  free  from  care  as  a  June  morning." 

"  I  am  always  well,  thank  you." 

"  There  are  not  many  doctors  who  can  say  as 
much.  A  physician's  position  is  so  responsible 
that  it  necessarily  wears  upon  him — that  is,  if 
he  is  at  all  sensitive." 

"  I  am  not  sensitive,"  said  the  doctor,  his 
forehead  flushing  in  direct  contradiction  to  his 
words. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  if  a  doctor  can  feel  cheer- 
ful. It  is  all  for  the  best,  I  dare  say,  if  you 
haven't  much  feeling  ;  though,  as  Betsey  Craig 
says — she  is  one  of  your  patients,  isn't  she  ? — 
she  should  like  to  have  a  doctor  who  really 
cared  whether  she  lived  or  died.  She  says  she 
needs  sympathy  more  than  medicine." 


246  Sympathy. 

"  Very  likely.  But  doctors  seldom  have  time 
to  pet  their  patients.  Miss  Craig's  illness  is 
chronic,  and  naturally  discourages  her.  But 
she  will  get  well.  Time  and  patience  will  cure. 
And,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so  to  you  who 
visit  her  so  often,  cheerful  society  is  what  she 
needs  rather  than  the  mistaken  sympathy  that 
keeps  her  disease  in  mind." 

It  was  Miss  Dorothy's  turn  to  color  now. 
"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  evading  the  point 
raised,  "  I  wonder  often  how  you  can  feel  so 
gay,  coming  as  you  do  from  the  very  presence 
of  death  every  day.  You  drive  about  as  care- 
less and  easy  as  if  there  were  not  a  sorrowful 
heart  in  the  world.  You  were  actually  whistling 
when  I  stopped.  Not  that  whistling  is  wicked, 
but  it  is  strange  that  you  can  feel  like  it.  Did 
you  ever  have  any  trials  ?  "  she  asked  curiously. 
"  Not  more  than  were  good  for  me."  The 
doctor's  face  was  now  considerably  clouded  by 
the  sympathy  he  was  receiving,  and  he  an- 
swered shortly.  His  horse  pawed  the  ground 
impatiently.  "  Stand  still,  Bayard.  Be  quiet, 
sir.  We'll  be  off  directly.  You  are  in  a  hurry 
as  well  as  your  master,"  said  the  doctor. 

Miss  Dorothy  paid  no  attention  to  this  hint. 


Sympathy.  247 

"  Some  folks,  doctor,  can  throw  their  trials 
one  side  and  go  on  as  if  nothing  were  the  mat- 
ter. They  really  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  feel 
even  for  themselves.  But  if  I  were  you  1 
would  get  into  the  habit  of  feeling  for  others. 
It  would  help  you  as  a  doctor  more  than  any 
thing  else.  There  is  old  Doctor  Rose.  You 
know  him  ? " 

"  I  have  met  him  once  or  twice." 
"  He  is  the  favorite  doctor  in  this  region." 
"  Is  he  ? "     Doctor  Ludlow  had  good  reason 
to  doubt  this,  but  he  didn't  say  so.  . 

"  Yes.  He  has  so  much  sympathy.  He  al- 
ways prays  with  his  parents.  Do  you  ever  try 
that?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

The  doctor  was  a  Christian,  but,  like  many 
others,  was  reticent  in  regard  to  his  own  experi- 
ence, and,  therefore,  reluctant  to  inquire  into 
the  religious  feelings  of  others.  It  was  back- 
wardness that  he  lamented  daily.  He  was 
striving  to  overcome  it,  for  no  one  was  more 
sensible  than  himself  of  the  peculiar  opportuni- 
ties to  do  good  to  the  souls  of  men  that  open  to 
a  pious  physician.  Still,  Miss  Dorothy's  cate- 
chising grated  upon  his  feelings.  Her  curious 


248  Sympathy. 

scrutiny  of  his  actions  seemed  indelicate.  It 
irritated  him. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Miss  Dorothy,  "  I  never  see 
you  without  feeling  sorry  for  you.  You  are 
young,  and  you  want  practice,  of  course,  and 
you  can't  help  that  cheerful  look.  You  can't 
look  like  Dr.  Rose  if  you  try." 

The  old  doctor's  solemn  phiz  came  up  so 
vividly  before  the  young  man's  mind  that  he 
laughed  heartily  in  spite  of  his  vexation. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Dorothy,"  he  said 
presently.  Then,  observing  her  shocked  look, 
he  added  good-naturedly,  "  Dr.  Rose  is  an  ex- 
cellent man  and  a  skillful  doctor,  but  he  is 
thirty  years  older  than  I  am,  so  I  cannot  hope 
to  look  like  him  very  soon.  Thank  you  for 
your  interest  in  me  all  the  same." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Dorothy  complacently,  "  it 
is  well  for  you  that  I  do  feel  an  interest  in  you. 
When  Abby  Nelson  died,  and  the  folks  said 
it  was  your  medicine  that  killed  her,  I  stood 
up  for  you.  I  said  that  when  you  had  mixed 
drugs  a  few  years  longer  you  would  under- 
stand the  nature  of  them  better.  '  He's  young, 
I  said." 

"Why,  Miss  Dorothy!" — the  young  doctor's 


Sympathy.  249 

face  was  quite  solemn  enough  now — "  I  did  not 
give  Miss  Nelson  any  medicine.  She  died  be- 
fore I  saw  her.  She  broke  a  blood-vessel." 

"Well,  I  declare!  how  folks  will  lie!"  Miss 
Dorothy's  indignation  was  genuine.  Whatever 
may  be  thought  of  her  way  of  expressing 
sympathy,  she  was  no  backbiter.  She  never 
slandered  people.  In  the  language  of  one 
of  her  intimate  friends,  "  she  had  her  good 
failings." 

"  You  mustn't  mind  what  folks  say,"  she  went 
on  in  a  tone  of  real  interest.  "  You  must  learn 
to  live  above  it.  Now  every  body  is  talking 
because  Nancy  Clenman  don't  try  some  other 
doctor.  You  have  attended  her  so  long,  you 
see.  And  the  poor  girl  does  not  get  better. 
Now,  do  you  think  she  does  ?" 

"  She  will  never  be  any  better,"  said  the 
young  doctor  sadly.  His  face  was  any  thing 
but  cheerful  now.  Nannie  Clenman  had  injured 
her  spine  by  a  fall  two  years  ago,  and  she  would 
lie  helplessly  on  her  couch  and  suffer  great  pain 
until  it  should  please  God,  the  pitying  Father, 
to  take  her  to  his  rest. 

"  I  would  have  a  council  of  doctors  if  J  were 
you,"  advised  Miss  Dorothy. 


250  Sympathy. 

"  It  would  do  no  good,  and  they  are  too  poor 
to  bear  the  expense." 

"  It  would  take  the  responsibility  off  your 
shoulders.  Don't  you  see  ?  People  will  talk, 
you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  I  suppose  they  v/ill.  But,  Miss  Dor- 
othy, I  would  rather  not  know  what  is  said 
about  me  or  my  practice.  You  mean  well,  but 
it  is  very  discouraging.  I  must  bid  you  good- 
day  now  or  some  of  my  sick  ones  will  be  im- 
patient." 

"The  mercy!"  ejaculated  Miss  Dorothy  as 
she  watched  him  cantering  down  the  street. 
"  How  touchy  he  is !  He  might  at  least  have 
thanked  me  for  my  sympathy.  Why,  I  have 
stood  here  condoling  with  him  a  full  half  hour 
if  I  have  a  minute.  Well,  well,  I  don't  expect 
to  be  appreciated  in  this  world.  I'm  glad  for 
one  there  is  a  future  state." 

Being  now  in  a  pious  and  elevated  frame  of 
mind,  she  decided  to  call  on  a  sick  lady  who 
had  been  ill  so  long  that  peopla  were  used  to 
the  idea  of  it,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  thought 
very  little  about  it. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go  in  and  see  Mrs.  Elder.  Poor 
woman  !  she'll  be  glad  enough  to  see  any  body 


Sympathy.  251 

who  will  sympathize  with  her.  Why  didn't  I 
think  to  ask  Dr.  Ludlow  if  there  were  any  new 
cases  of  sickness,  so  that  I  could  tell  her  about 
them.  I  do  believe,"  said  Miss  Dorothy,  "  that 
she  wouldn't  hear  of  half  the  deaths  in  the 
place  if  it  were  not  for  me." 

Mrs.  Elder  was  an  invalid  without  any  defi- 
nite ailment.  She  was  exceedingly  frail  and 
delicate-looking,  and  suffered  greatly  from  nerv- 
ous weakness  and  general  debility.  She  could 
not  bear  excitement,  and  often  became  so  sen- 
sitive to  noises  that  the  sudden  slamming  of  a 
door  made  her  hysterical.  She  was  subject  to 
long  and  severe  attacks  of  headache,  during 
which  the  slightest  jar  in  the  room,  or  a  whis- 
pered word,  occasioned  her  exquisite  torture. 
She  was  young,  not  yet  twenty-five,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  ravages  of  illness,  a  very  beautiful 
woman. 

Miss  Dorothy's  pity  for  her  was  very  sincere. 
She  made  it  a  point  to  call  on  her  as  often  as 
once  a  week.  It  was  Mr.  Elder's  opinion,  some- 
times very  strongly  expressed,  that  his  wife 
was  invariably  worse  after  one  of  these  visits, 
and  the  invalid  herself  began  to  be  conscious 

of  a  shuddering  dread  whenever  her  sharpened 
IT 


252  Sympathy. 

sense  of  hearing  recognized  Miss  Dorothy's 
soft  knock  at  the  door.  There  was  a  sense  of 
relief  at  the  close  of  each  visit,  that  the  invalid 
would  not  have  been  willing  to  acknowledge  to 
herself;  and  a  "fearful  looking  forward,"  as  if  a 
dentist  were  coming  to  extract  her  eye-teeth, 
whenever  the  advent  of  an  unusually  fine  day 
seemed  especially  calculated  to  allure  people 
out  of  doors. 

"She  will  come  to-day,  I  think,"  she  said, 
glancing  out  of  the  window  at  the  pleasant 
October  sunshine  and  unconsciously  sighing. 

"  O  yes,  you  are  so  much  better,  my  dear," 
said  Mr.  Elder,  "that  it  is  high  time  for  her  to 
come  and  overset  you.  I  should  like  to  give 
her  a  piece  of  my  mind — a  good,  generous  slice. 
I  shall  do  it  yet." 

"O  no,"  remonstrated  his  wife;  "you  must 
not  forget,  Tom,  that  she  was  one  of  my  mother's 
friends." 

"  Bother  the  friends !  Shows  bad  taste  in 
your  mother.  She  is  no  friend  of  my  wife,  or 
of  myself,  I  am  happy  to  say.  A  queer  sort  of 
friendship  that  tries  to  kill  its  object." 

"Why,  Tom!" 

"  Ah.  Bessie,  you  can  shake  your  head  if  you 


Sympathy.  253 

like,  but  I  must  say  that,  for  a  good  woman,  she 
has  a  wonderful  power  of  making  other  folks 
feel  wicked.  Why,  I  never  see  her  coming  into 
the  house  without  feeling  my  dander  rise.  She 
comes  in  so  pompously,  as  if  she  were  appointed 
our  inspector-general,  and  looks  about  with  an 
air  that  says,  'Just  trot  out  your  family  skeleton, 
for  I'm  bound  to  get  a  good  look  at  it.'  Tell 
you  what  it  is,  Bessie,  I  should  like  to  take  her 
by  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  turn  her  inquisitive 
nose  decidedly  toward  home." 

Bessie  laughed  merrily.  Her  husband  had 
such  an  overplus  of  life  and  good  spirits  that  it 
really  refreshed  her  weaker  nature  to  hear  him 
laugh  and  scold  together  like  a  good-humored 
giant.  There  was  no  suggestion  of  illness  or 
suffering  in  his  healthy  face  and  tall,  portly 
figure,  and  Bessie  often  forgot  her  bad  feelings 
while  listening  to  him. 

"  You  will  frighten  me,  Tom,"  she  said  at 
last  "  You  are  positively  ferocious.  I  didn't 
think  you  could  show  such  a  spirit.  Poor  Miss 
Dorothy!"  Bessie  continued,  "she  means  well. 
It  is  her  way  of  expressing  sympathy." 

"  Sympathy  !  It  is  her  way  of  meddling  with 
other  folks'  business.  And  there  she  comes. 


254  Sympathy. 

The  old  saying  is  true,  'The  devil  is  nearest 
when  we  are  talking  about  him.'  What  will  you 
do?  Take  ether?" 

"  Don't  keep  me  laughing,  I  beg.  What  will 
she  think  of  me  ?"  Bessie  tried  hard  to  straight- 
en her  face  to  a  decorous  length. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  my  dear,  she  will 
soon  sober  you.  She  frightened  you  into  hys- 
terics the  last  time  she  was  here." 

"  Well,  I  wont  mind  what  she  says  now. 
Why  don't  Bridget  open  the  street  door  ?  She 
has  rung  twice.  Do,  Tom,  let  her  in,"  urged 
Bessie  nervously,  still  using  her  best  endeavors 
to  smother  a  giggle. 

"  She  should  ring  a  week  before  I  would  let 
her  in  of  my  own  accord." 

But  he  went  to  the  door,  nevertheless.  Miss 
Dorothy  was  not  particularly  glad  to  find  him 
at  home.  She  felt  instinctively  that  Mr.  Elder 
did  not  appreciate  her.  She  had  several  times 
thought  his  half-defiant  manner  might  be  inter- 
preted as  a  desire  for  her  to  keep  away.  She 
had  usually  contrived  to  call  when  he  was 
absent,  it  was  so  much  pleasanter  to  have  his 
wife  all  to  herself.  But  if  a  man  chose  to  stay 
in  his  own  house,  with  his  own  wife,  she  could 


Sympathy.  255 

not  help  it,  so  she  followed  him  into  the  house 
after  inquiring  after  his  wife. 

"She  is  nicely,  I  thank  you — improving  fast," 
said  Mr.  Elder.  "  She  is  in  very  good  spirits, 
too,  and  we  are  careful  to  avoid  all  gloomy  sub- 
jects in  conversation.  If  any  body  brings  in  a 
lot  of  blues  we  just  bundle  them  out  of  doors, 
blues  and  all.  There  is  no  use  in  being  cere- 
monious in  such  matters,"  he  added  as  Miss 
Dorothy  swept  by  him  into  his  wife's  room. 

"  Don't  get  up,  my  dear  child,"  she  said  as 
Bessie  rose  to  receive  her.  "  Why,  what  have 
you  been  doing  to  yourself.  You  are  as  pale 
as  a  ghost.  Are  you  faint  ?" 

"No,  I — I  believe  not,"  replied  Bessie,  glan- 
cing into  a  mirror  opposite  with  a  frightened 
look. 

"  Well,  you  look  faint.  There  isn't  a  particle 
of  color  in  your  lips.  When  I  was  in  here  last 
week  I  thought  you  had  no  flesh  to  lose,  but  I 
can  see  that  you  have  grown  thin." 

"  On  the  contrary,  she  has  gained  a  pound  in 
that  time.  I  weighed  her  myself  this  morning. 
I  never  saw  any  one  improve  more  rapidly." 

"  Perhaps  she  had  on  some  extra  clothing. 
Still,  when  people  are  ill  their  weight  is  apt  to 


256  Sympathy. 

be  variable,  and  a  pound  more  or  less  does  not 
prove  any  thing.     Have  you  any  appetite  ?" 

"I  should  think  she  had,"  said  Mr.  Elder, 
still  answering  for  his  wife.  "  I  am  afraid  to 
say  how  much  beefsteak  she  ate  for  dinner." 

Miss  Dorothy  sighed — a  benevolent  sort  of 
sigh,  as  if  it  went  to  her  heart  to  dissipate  the 
hopes  of  her  listeners,  but  it  must  be  done. 

"  Voracity  is  often  a  bad  symptom  ;  always 
so  toward  the  last.  My  dear  child,  it  makes  me 
very  sad  to  see  you  wasting  away  so." 

Bessie  felt  a  chilly,  nervous  tremor  stealing 
over  her,  and  again  she  glanced  involuntarily 
into  the  glass  to  find  out  by  her  own  observa- 
tion whether  she  were  alive  or  dead.  It  was  a 
pale,  scared  face  that  she  saw,  and  she  shivered 
visibly.  Her  husband  sat  down  by  her  side 
and  put  his  arm  around  her. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  hug  Bessie  right  before 
her,"  he  said  afterward,  "  because  I  knew  the 
old  humbug  never  had  a  genuine  hug  in  her  life, 
and  so  might  die  of  envy ;  but  I  drew  her  up 
pretty  snug  and  whispered,  '  Shall  I  shoot  her  ?' 
This  set  Bessie  to  laughing  again  ;  or,  rather, 
it  was  a  mixture  of  hysterical  laughing  and 
crying." 


Sympathy.  257 

"  Dear  me  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Dorothy,  look- 
ing at  her  compassionately,  "how  weak  your 
poor  nerves  are !  There  is  Annie  Wheeler — 
she  was  just  so  at  first." 

"Annie  Wheeler!"  Bessie  repeated  in  stir- 
prise.  "  I  have  not  heard  any  thing  about 
Annie." 

"  I  did  not  mean  you  to  hear  it  at  present," 
said  her  husband,  "  because  you  are  weak,  and 
I  knew  it  would  shock  you.  But  I  must  tell 
you  now,  I  suppose.  Annie  is  in  the  insane 
asylum." 

"After  murdering  her  child,"  put  in  Miss 
Dorothy  solemnly. 

Bessie  hid  her  face  on  her  husband's  shoulder 
and  clung  to  him  convulsively.  "  O,  Tom,  if  I 
ever  should  be  like  that ! " 

"  You  never  will,  my  darling.  You  are  no 
more  like  Annie  than  I  am." 

"  Mr.  Elder,"  asked  Miss  Dorothy  impress- 
ively, "  do  you  think  it  does  any  good  to  deceive 
people  who  are  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  do  not.  I  never  did  it  in  my 
life,"  he  answered.  Bessie  smiled  trustfully  as 
she  looked  up  into  his  clear,  honest  eyes.  "  I 
should  like  to  ask  you  a  question,  Miss  Dorothy. 


258  Sympathy. 

What  earthly  good  can  it  do  a  nervous  invalid 
to  be  excited  by  gloomy  forebodings  or  fright- 
ened by  accounts  of  murder  ?  I  know  that  is 
your  way  of  showing  sympathy,  but  I  object  to 
Bessie's  being  tormented  in  that  way.  In  fact, 
I  wont  permit  it.  Now,  if  you  can  come  in  like 
a  cheerful  Christian,  as  you  ought  to  be  at  your 
time  of  life,  and  bring  only  cheerful  influences 
with  you,  why,  come  and  welcome.  But  if  you 
must  turn  our  parlor  into  a  grave-yard,  stay 
away,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  oblige  yours,  re- 
spectfully, Thomas  Elder." 

Bessie  laughed  again.  It  was  so  funny  to 
hear  him  gravely  conclude  his  speech  as  if  he 
were  finishing  a  letter.  Miss  Dorothy  looked 
at  her  pityingly. 

"  I  will  go.  I  meant  to  tell  you  about  the 
fever  in  Warrington,  and  about  your  Uncle 
Charles  being  so  unfortunately  drowned,  but  I 
will  go.  Send  for  me  if  you  need  me.  I  stood 
by  the  death-beds  of  your  mother  and  your 
grandmother,  and  I  shall  not  refuse  to  stand  by 
yours." 

Bessie  shuddered  again  and  turned  very  pale. 

"  We  are  not  dying  yet,"  said  Mr.  Elder  an- 
grily ;  "  and  if  we  were,  I  dare  say  we  could 


Sympathy.  259 

manage  it  without  your  help.  Shall  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  opening  the  front  door  for  you  ? 
If  she  had  only  been  a  man,"  he  said  to  Bessie 
on  his  return  to  the  parlor,  "  I  would  have 
helped  her  down  the  steps  with  the  toe  of  my 
boot.  However,  I  guess  she  will  keep  away  in 
future." 

As  for  Miss  Dorothy,  standing  bewildered  in 
the  street,  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  her 
state  of  feeling.  It  was  very  evident  that  her 
sympathy  for  others  was  not  appreciated.  Was 
it  worth  while  to  continue  her  efforts  ?  "  I 
think,"  said  the  good  lady,  "  that  I  will  go  no 
farther  this  afternoon.  I  will  go  home  and 
meditate." 

Miss  Dorothy  meditated  a  good  deal  in  the 
course  of  the  evening.  It  was  an  unusual  ex- 
ercise and  rather  puzzled  Aunt  Ruthie,  who 
was  accustomed  to  listen  with  admiring  humility 
to  her  sister's  accounts  of  her  visits.  It  is  true 
that,  as  she  listened,  strong  doubts  would  often 
suggest  themselves  as  to  whether  Miss  Dorothy 
always  hit  upon  the  best  methods  of  comforting 
those  who  needed  consolation  ;  and  once  she 
went  so  far  as  to  think  that  sympathy  must  be 
harder  to  bear  than  actual  trials.  You  see 


260  Sympathy. 

Aunt  Ruth  was  such  a  quiet,  gentle  little  wom- 
an, with  such  a  shy  sense  of  delicacy  in  regard 
to  other  people's  affairs,  and  such  a  shrinking 
timidity  as  to  being  herself  known  as  a  helper, 
that  she  could  not  be  expected  to  understand 
the  broader  field  that  her  sister  occupied.  She 
rather  liked  the  meditative  mood  of  the  even- 
ing. Sometimes  it  was  pleasanter  to  think  than 
to  listen.  And  this  evening,  while  her  fingers 
worked  nimbly  to  finish  little  Nannie's  dress, 
all  sorts  of  pleasant  fancies  were  filling  her 
head. 

In  the  morning  Miss  Dorothy  arose  armed 
with  new  strength.  The  plain  remarks  of  Doc- 
tor Ludlow  and  Mr.  Elder  still  rankled  in  her 
mind  like  a  set  of  unpleasant  thorns  ;  but  she 
was  not  to  be  turned  from  the  noble  mission 
of  her  life  by  the  rude  rebuffs  of  two  men. 
"  What  could  they  know  of  the  power  of  sym- 
pathy ? "  she  asked  indignantly,  brushing  out 
her  hair  with  such  energy  that  nothing  but  a 
timely  fear  of  not  leaving  enough  to  fasten  her 
chignon  kept  her  from  becoming  suddenly  bald 
in  spots. 

"  Men,"  she  went  on  with  an  inspiration  that 
made  her  akin  to  the  strongest  women's  rights 


Sympathy.  26 1 

women  of  the  day,  "  men  have  strength,  animal 
strength,  but  no  hearts.  I  am  glad — ahem ! 
well,  I  ought  to  be  glad  I  am  not  tied  to  one  of 
them." 

Now  Miss  Dorothy,  even  while  sturdily  as- 
serting her  rights  to  comfort  people  in  spite  of 
themselves,  had  an  undercurrent  of  conviction 
in  her  mind,  or,  rather,  an  instinctive  sense 
that  she  was  not  so  much  actuated  by  compas- 
sionate interest  as  by  a  desire  to  meddle  with 
and  control  the  affairs  of  others.  A  woman's 
instinct  is  nearly  always  reliable,  and  is  often  a 
safer  guide  than  the  slower  process  of  reasoning. 

Miss  Dorothy's  instinct  was  a  true  one.  It 
was  so  clearly  in  the  right  that  it  was  some- 
times impossible  to  stifle  it  by  the  most  eloquent 
setting  forth  of  the  happy  influence  of  sympathy. 
On  this  particular  morning  there  was  such  a 
struggle  in  her  mind  between  common  sense  on 
the  one  hand  and  a  desire  to  magnify  her  "  mis- 
sion "  on  the  other,  that  she  sat  down  to  the 
tempting  breakfast  prepared  by  her  sister  with- 
out once  remembering  to  appropriate  for  her 
own  eating  the  crispest  buckwheat  or  the  juciest 
part  of  the  steak.  Noticing  this,  Aunt  Ruthie 
anxiously  inquired  if  she  were  ill. 


262  Sympathy. 

"  No      Why  do  you  ask  ? " 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  seem  like  yourself." 

No  response  was  made  to  this  remark,  and 
both  sisters  ate  in  silence  till  the  sudden  ring- 
ing of  the  door-bell  startled  them. 

"  Who  can  it  be  at  this  time  of  the  morning  ? " 
said  Aunt  Ruthie,  going  to  the  window  and  peer- 
ing down  into  the  yard  in  the  vain  effort  to  ob- 
tain a  view  of  their  visitor. 

"  You  will  be  more  likely  to  find  out  by  going 
to  the  door,"  said  Miss  Dorothy. 

Aunt  Ruth  meekly  obeyed  the  hint.  It  was 
a  little  red-headed  boy,  and  he  wanted  Miss 
Dorothy. 

"  My  mother  wants  her  to  come  straight  over 
to  our  house  as  quick  as  she  can." 

"  Your  mother  is  Mrs.  Cornell,  is  she  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Is  any  thing  the  matter  ?     Is  she  sick  ? " 

Aunt  Ruth's  kindly  thoughts  were  off  in  a 
twinkling  in  an  excursion  among  the  dried  herbs 
in  the  attic.  % 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy,  taking  off  his 
cap  to  scratch  his  head.  "  She  told  me  to  come 
over  here  quicker'n  lightning  and  fetch  Miss 
Dorothy.  That  is  all  I  know." 


Sympathy.  263 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  her,"  said  Aunt  Ruth  doubt- 
fully as  she  slowly  closed  the  door  after  him. 
"  If  it  is  a  case  of  real  sickness  now,  Mrs.  Cor- 
nell may  need  a  cup  of  gruel  or  broth  more  than 
sympathy." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  Miss  Dorothy's 
sudden  elation  of  spirits  when  the  boy's  message 
was  repeated  to  her.  It  would,  without  doubt, 
give  her  a  chance  to  work  in  her  own  way.  It 
settled  the  question  whether  she  was  needed  or 
not.  And  it  was  truly  providential  that  when 
she  was  just  yielding  to  her  discouraging  fears, 
there  should  come  to  her  very  door  a  stroke  of 
business  in  her  own  line. 

As  soon  as  she  could  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  without  even  waiting  to  finish  her  break- 
fast, only  delaying  long  enough  to  tell  Aunt 
Ruth  to  keep  the  dishes  hot  till  her  return,  she 
started  for  Mrs.  Cornell's.  The  red-headed 
boy  was  watching  for  her  by  the  door,  and  he 
ushered  her  at  once  into  his  mother's  sitting- 
room. 

A  middle-aged  woman  sat  in  a  large  arm- 
chair, rocking  herself  backward  and  forward, 
and  groaning  fearfully.  "O,  Miss  Dorothy," 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  Bill, 


264  Sympathy. 

go  out  and  shut  the  door  after  you.  Boys,"  said 
Mrs.  Cornell,  getting  up  herself  to  see  if  the 
doors  were  shut — "  Boys  are  forever  in  the  way. 
It  is  a  puzzle  what  they  were  made  for.  Now 
I  will  tell  you  something.  I  have  been  in  a 
worry  for  two  or  three  days,  and  my  husband 
only  laughs  at  me.  I  am  sure  you  will  not  do 
that." 

"  No,"  replied  Miss  Dorothy  solemnly,  "  I 
never  laugh  at  trouble.  It  is  very  unfeeling  for 
any  one  to  do  so." 

"  So  I  think.  I  told  my  husband  so  almost 
in  your  very  words.  But  he  said  he'd  had  doz- 
ens of  them  and  never  thought  they  were  worth 
mentioning." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Dorothy,  not  quite  under- 
standing whether  "  dozens  "  referred  to  children 
or  cabbages. 

"And  Martha  says  they  are  as  common  as 
huckleberries,  and  are  good  for  one's  health,  too. 
Of  course  she  isn't  frightened  if  her  father  makes 
light  of  it." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Dorothy,  still  feeling  her  way 
through  the  mist,  "  I  suppose  not." 

"  O,  dear  ! "  Mrs.  Cornell  was  again  rocking 
herself  furiously.  "  I  suppose  there  is  a  great 


Sympathy.  265 

deal  in  taking  it  in  time,  though  I've  always 
said  if  I  ever  had  one  I  would  give  right  up  and 
die  without  doing  a  thing.  Mrs.  Woodward 
has  had  three,  but  she  took  them  in  the  begin- 
ning. I  heard  last  week  that  she  had  another, 
and  that  is  what  worries  me.  Once  started,  it 
is  impossible  to  be  entirely  clear  of  them.  O, 
dear ! " 

"  Can  I  help  you  about  it  ? "  Miss  Dorothy 
hesitated,  not  certain  to  what  she  might  commit 
herself. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  will  show  it  to  you." 

Miss  Dorothy  started  and  looked  keenly  into 
all  the  corners  of  the  room  and  under  the  tables 
with  a  vague  idea  that  some  animal  was  to  be 
exhibited. 

It  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Mrs.  Cornell 
hurriedly  unfastened  the  neck  of  her  dress,  and, 
slipping  it  down,  displayed  on  the  tip  of  her 
shoulder  one  of  those  troublesome  swellings 
commonly  called  "  pussy-boils."  "  Did  you  ever 
see  any  thing  like  it  ?  It  has  been  swelling  and 
swelling  for  three  days." 

If  that  were  true  it  had  been  extremely  lazy 
about  it,  for  now  it  was  not  as  large  as  a 
walnut. 


266  Sympathy. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  it  is  ?  Don't  touch 
it,  for  pity's  sake.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  felon  ? "  suggested  Miss  Dorothy, 
whose  knowledge  of  tumors  was  limited  to  their 
names. 

"  A  felon  ?  No.  Felons  don't  come  on  the 
neck.  They  start  from  the  bone,  too.  Steve 
had  a  felon.  I  know  what  a  felon  is." 

"  What  have  you  done  for  it  ? " 

"  Not  much.  I  am  afraid  of  driving  it  back 
into  my  blood,  or  bringing  it  to  an  open  sore. 
Steve  says  I  had  better  poultice  it,  but  what  do 
men  know  ? " 

"  Very  little  indeed,"  assented  Miss  Dorothy 
with  an  emphasis  only  to  be  explained  by  her  yes- 
terday's encounter  with  Mr.  Elder.  "  Scarcely 
any  thing,  in  fact.  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Cornell," 
she  went  on  with  a  wise  look,  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  frighten  you,  but  have  any  of  your  relations 
ever  died  of  cancer  ? " 

"  Why,  my  mother  did.  And  that  is  just 
what  I've  been  telling  Steve.  I  thought  of  it 
as  soon  as  I  heard  about  Mrs.  Woodward." 

"  What  did  your  husband  say  ? " 

"  He  said  I  could  not  scare  my  wits  out  with 
borrowed  trouble.  And  '  besides,'  said  he,  '  the 


Sympathy.  267 

thing  will  come  to  a  head  and  burst  before  you 
have  time  to  get  crazy.'  That's  all  the  sympa- 
thy he  gave  me." 

"  How  unfeeling  !     Positively  brutal ! " 

"You  don't  think  it  is  really  a  cancer?" 
queried  the  poor  woman,  ready  to  catch  at  any 
thing  hopeful  in  spite  of  her  own  persistence  in 
foreboding. 

"  Does  it  burn  and  sting  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  itch  ? " 

"Yes.     O,  dear!" 

"Well,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Miss  Dorothy 
impressively,  "  if  I  were  you  I  would  show  it  to 
the  doctor.  It  might  be  cut  out,  you  know." 

"  My  sakes  ! " 

"  It  is  true,  as  you  say,  that  cancers  are  apt 
to  come  again  after  they  are  cut  out.  In  fact, 
they  are  pretty  sure  to  do  so.  But  there  was 
Mary  Ann  Day — she  lived  a  year  longer  for 
having  hers  taken  out.  And  life  is  sweet." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that  if  one  has  to  be 
dying  all  the  time.  But  I'll  see  the  doctor. 
That  can't  do  any  hurt.  Perhaps,"  said  the 
poor  woman,  "we  may  be  mistaken.  And 

there's   one   thing  about  it,"  she  added  stoutly, 

is 


268  Sympathy. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  suffer  death  with  a  cancer 
if  I  haven't  got  one.  I'll  go  straight  down  to 
Dr.  Ludlow's  office." 

"  Not  to  the  young  doctor  ? " 

"  Yes.  Why  not  ?  He  is  our  family  doctor. 
I  guess  he  can  tell  a  cancer  if  he  sees  one." 

"  But  old  Dr.  Rose  is  so  sympathetic." 

"  If  I  have  really  got  a  cancer  I  don't  want 
any  sympathy.  I  will  just  bear  it.  If  it  is  not 
a  cancer  I  don't  need  any." 

Without  further  parley  or  a  word  of  apology, 
Mrs.  Cornell  tied  on  her  bonnet  and  started 
briskly  down  the  street,  leaving  her  visitor  alone 
in  the  house. 

"  There's  manners  for  you,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Miss  Dorothy  as  she  followed  at  a  slower  pace. 
"  The  next  time  I  leave  a  good  warm  breakfast 
to  investigate  a  goose-pimple  on  a  spleeny  wom- 
an's shoulder  I  shall  be  several  years  older  than 
I  am  now.  I  should  just  like  to  know  what 
Dr.  Ludlow  says  to  her." 

Her  curiosity  was  gratified  in  a  short  time. 
Mrs.  Cornell,  who  supposed  Miss  Dorothy  to 
be  seriously  alarmed  on  her  account,  no  sooner 
had  her  own  fears  set  at  rest  than  she  bethought 
herself  of  her  duty  to  quiet  her  visitor's  anxie- 


Sympathy.  269 

ties.  Miss  Dorothy  had  not  quite  finished  her 
second  attempt  at  eating  her  breakfast  before 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  the  red-headed  lad  ap- 
peared again.  This  time  he  had  a  note  for  her. 
It  ran  thus  : 

"  Deer  Miss  dorothy,  steve  was  rite.  It  is  a  bile.  The 
kore  is  cum  out.  the  doctor  put  on  a  plaster,  the  pane 

is  Stopt.  "MARTHA   CORNELL." 

A  whole  week  now  passed  by  without  any  at- 
tempts on  the  part  of  Miss  Dorothy  to  lighten 
the  burdens  of  her  suffering  fellow-creatures. 
It  was  a  stroke  of  policy  on  her  part.  Just  let 
people  try  what  they  could  do  without  her  sym- 
pathy and  then  see.  Blessings  are  never  valued 
as  they  should  be  until  they  are  taken  away. 

"  If  there  is  one  class  of  people  who  need 
sympathy  more  than  others  it  is  the  ministers 
and  their  families." 

Miss  Dorothy  looked  across  the  little  work- 
stand  between  her  and  her  sister  with  the  air 
of  one  who  has  just  made  and  is  announcing  a 
grand  discovery. 

"  You  see,  Ruthie,  that  not  only  their  busi- 
ness, but  all  their  associations,  are  different 
from  the  common  worldly  people  around  them. 


2/O  Sympathy. 

Their  work  is  a  spiritual  work,  and  this  fact 
is  never  to  be  lost  sight  of.  It  is  a  solemn 
work,  a  responsible  work,  the  care  of  immortal 
souls." 

"Yes,"  answered  Aunt  Ruth  absently,  her 
mind  running  on  the  propriety  of  offering  a 
glass  of  her  clear  apple-jelly  to  an  invalid  lady 
who  had  just  moved  into  the  place,  and  conse- 
quently had  few  acquaintances  there.  "  They 
are  rich,  to  be  sure,"  she  said  aloud,  "  but  still 
it  might  be  pleasant  for  her  to  know  that  we 
thought  of  her  comfort." 

"  Rich  ! "  repeated  her  sister.  "  How  did  you 
find  that  out  ?  His  salary  is  not  large.  I  was 
not  aware  that  he  had  any  thing  else." 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  his  salary.  I 
only  judged  from  their  way  of  living.  They 
would  not  keep  two  servants  if  they  were  very 
poor." 

"  Two  servants  !  Have  you  lost  your  senses, 
Ruth  ?  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  his 
salary  is,  and  that  Mrs.  Mason  does  her  own 
work." 

"  Excuse  me,  Dorothy.  I  was  speaking  of  the 
lady  who  has  moved  into  Woodbine  Cottage." 

"  I  was  talking  about  the   minister's  folks," 


Sympathy.  271 

responded  Miss  Dorothy  loftily.  "  I  do  be- 
lieve, Ruth,  that  you  grow  absent-minded  every 
day.  It  is  not  a  very  polite  habit.  I  would 
break  it  up  if  I  were  you." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Aunt  Ruth,  meekly,  "  it  is  a 
bad  habit,  as  you  say.  I  suppose  I  have  fallen 
into  it  from  staying  so  much  alone.  I  must 
correct  it/' 

Still,  the  almost  transparent  apple-jelly  would 
not  be  dismissed  from  her  thoughts.  It  would 
be  such  an  unpretending  way  of  showing  a 
neighborly  interest ;  not  a  bit  like  offering 
charity  ;  only  saying,  as  gently  as  possible, 
"  We  know  you  are  ill.  Let  us  help  you  if  we 
can." 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  just  how  Aunt  Ruth 
looked.  She  was  not  so  very  old — not  more 
than  sixty,  but  her  hair  was  all  white  like  silver. 
She  had  hazel-brown  eyes  with  the  pleasantest 
expression,  and  yet  with  a  look  in  them  that 
told  you  she  had  suffered.  There  was  a  soft 
peachy  bloom  on  her  cheek,  and  her  forehead 
was  only  a  little  wrinkled.  Little  Jimmie  Lake, 
who  would  come  so  shyly  into  the  back  door  to 
receive  one  of  her  turnovers,  always  told  his 
mother  at  night  that  Aunt  Ruth's  face  was  a 


272  Sympathy. 

picture.  It  was  such  a  sweet,  lovely  old  face, 
with  a  peace  in  it  that  made  you  think  of  the 
angels — a  face  that  rested  and  quieted  the 
looker-on  ;  that  unconsciously  preached  the 
gospel  of  love.  The  softly  smiling  lips  were 
never  heard  to  utter  a  slander  or  an  unkind 
word.  One  would  as  soon  expect  to  find  a  well 
of  corruption  in  the  heart  of  a  white  lily  as  to 
catch  a  bit  of  unchristian  gossip  proceeding 
from  her  mouth. 

Aunt  Ruth  thought  very  little  of  herself. 
The  unconscious  grace  of  her  sweet  humility 
was  very  charming  now,  and  it  must  have  been 
exceedingly  attractive  in  those  long-ago  days 
when  handsome  Harry  Dayton  won  her  for  his 
bride.  Although  his  choice  made  her  very 
happy,  she  could  not  help  being  .surprised  that 
it  had  not  fallen  on  her  sister,  who  "  had  so 
much  more  talent."  How  Harry  laughed  when 
she  told  him  so  !  It  was  no  wonder  that  she  was 
sometimes  absent-minded,  or  that  her  thoughts 
loved  to  linger  among  the  memories  of  her  ear- 
lier life ;  that  the  twin  babies  and  almost  idol- 
ized husband  should  still  seem  a  part  of  her 
own  being,  though  the  Father  had  so  long  ago 
taken  them  to  his  rest  above. 


Sympathy.  273 

Little  children  came  as  naturally  to  her  as  to 
their  own  mothers.  But  they  never  troubled 
her  sister.  Miss  Dorothy's  well  of  sympathy 
was  altogether  too  deep  for  children  to  sound. 

"  I  guess,"  said  little  Fannie  Lake,  Jimmie's 
sister,  "  I  guess  if  you  were  a  little  girl,  and  had 
the  earache,  you  wouldn't  want  her  to  tuck  you 
into  bed." 

Still  it  was  indisputable  that  Miss  Dorothy 
was  a  fine-looking  woman,  and  a  woman  of  con- 
siderable intellectual  power.  Au/it  Ruth  watched 
her  in  the  afternoon  as  she  walked  down  the 
street  toward  the  minister's  house,  and  won- 
dered anew  why  her  own  life  had  been  so  full 
of  love  and  tender  ties,  and  her  sister's  com- 
paratively so  barren. 

"  She  is  so  talented,"  she  said  admiringly. 
"  Now,  I  never  should  think  of  going  down  to 
offer  sympathy  to  our  minister.  He  seemed  so 
good  and  so  strong,  so  far  above  me  somehow. 
I  could  not  help  him  if  I  were  to  try." 

Aunt  Ruth  little  knew  the  minister's  estimate 
of  her  lovely  character,  or  how  her  sweet  Chris- 
tian graces  sent  a  warm  glow  to  his  heart  when 
it  sank  down  discouraged  with  its  unavoidable 
conflict  with  selfish  and  worldly  Christians. 


274  Sympathy. 

11  She  restores  my  confidence  in  the  power  of  a 
really  religious  life,"  he  would  often  say  to  his 
wife.  "  I  never  see  her  without  thinking  of 
Lowell's  beautiful  lines  : 

4  She  doeth  little  kindnesses 

Which  most  leave  undone  or  despise  ; 

For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 

And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 

Is  low  esteemed  in  her  eyes.' " 

Aunt  Ruth  would  have  opened  her  eyes  in 
astonishment  if  she  had  heard  this.  As  she 
stood  by  the  window  watching  her  sister,  and 
thinking  over  the  self-denying  labors  of  the 
pastor  and  the  hinderances  to  his  work,  she 
never  once  thought  that  she  was  one  of  the  few 
who  kept  him  from  utter  despondency. 

"  It  is  just  as  Dorothy  says,"  she  said  humbly. 
"  I  need  more  sense  and  tact.  When  the  baby 
died  at  the  parsonage  last  winter  I  felt  perfectly 
helpless.  It  was  such  a  dear  little  boy,  and  I 
had  lost  two  at  the  same  age.  I  knew  just  how 
the  poor  mother's  heart  ached,  but  I  could  not 
say  a  word.  I  cried  like  a  baby  myself  when 
she  clung  to  my  neck,  the  poor  mother ! "  said 
Aunt  Ruth,  crying  again  at  the  recollection. 
"  I  don't  think  either  of  us  heard  a  word  that 


Sympathy,  275 

Sister  Dorothy  said,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
it  was — it  was  just  as  appropriate  as  it  could 
be.  I  just  hugged  her  tighter  and  tighter,  and 
we  cried  harder  and  harder.  Somehow  or  other, 
since  that  night  Mrs.  Mason  and  I  have  seemed 
very  near  to  each  other,  very  near." 

The  minister,  sitting  by  his  study  window, 
saw  Miss  Dorothy  approaching.  He  was  feel- 
ing low-spirited,  decidedly  so.  Ministers  will 
have  blue  days.  They  are,  of  course,  unreason- 
able in  this  ;  there  are  so  many  pleasant  things 
connected  with  their  work,  and  so  many  reasons 
why  they  should  rise  entirely  above  worldly 
cares  or  selfish  feelings,  that  looking  on  the 
dark  side  is  perfectly  inexcusable  in  them. 
With  a  memory  full  of  sweet  Bible  promises, 
and  a  sure  title  to  a  heavenly  inheritance,  any 
depressed  feelings  or  carefulness  by  the  way  is 
simply  ridiculous. 

Still,  Mr.  Mason,  sitting  in  his  study  alone,  was 
sensible  of  a  general  feeling  of  discontent,  and 
the  pastor's  work,  including  preaching  as  well 
as  general  visiting,  was  very  distasteful  in  his 
eyes." 

"  It  is  of  no  use  trying.  I  accomplish  noth- 
ing," he  said  again  and  again. 


276  Sympathy. 

His  brows  were  knit  into  as  much  of  a  scowl 
as  they  could  bear,  but  a  darker  cloud  over- 
shadowed his  face  as  his  eyes  fell  on  Miss 
Dorothy. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  thought  a  minute  ago 
that  my  prospects  were  as  gloomy  as  they  could 
be,  but  I  had  forgotten  the  possibility  of  a  call 
from  Miss  Dorothy.  I  can  bear  any  thing  better 
than  her  sympathy.  I  could  endure  very  well 
a  visit  from  the  Church  treasurer,"  he  continued, 
smiling  grimly,  "provided  he  brought  a  portion 
of  my  unpaid  salary.  Afterward  I  could  look 
the  tailor  and  grocery  dealer  in  the  face.  I  could 
also  preach  a  plain  Gospel  sermon  without  ex- 
pecting to  receive  a  pile  of  unpaid  bills  if  the 
said  sermons  happened  to  fit  any  body.  Yes,  I 
could  bear  a  little  money.  And  if  this  lazy 
woman  was  coming  to  help  my  wife  with  her 
ironing  I  could  bear  that.  I  would  iron  the 
clothes  myself  if  I  knew  how.  But  it  is  an  im- 
position," said  the  minister,  looking  out  of  the 
window  as  the  bell  rang,  "  it  is  an  imposition  to 
have  to  go  down  stairs  just  to  be  sympathized 
with." 

He  went  down,  nevertheless.  He  knew  that 
his  wife  was  too  busy  to  receive  her  visitor,  and 


Sympathy.  277 

he  knew  also  that  Miss  Dorothy  would  prolong 
her  stay  till  she  had  a  chance  to  sympathize 
with  him.  So  he  went  down.  Miss  Dorothy 
had  often  remarked  to  her  sister  that  the  minis- 
ter had  a  cross  look,  and  a  curt,  uncourteous 
manner,  but  Ruth  could  never  see  it.  He  cer- 
tainly looked  cross  now — so  cross  that  his 
wife,  who  was  busily  ironing  a  starched  shirt, 
looked  up  into  his  churlish  face  with  dismay, 
which  was  nearly  changed  into  a  biflrst  of  laugh- 
ter when  she  saw  its  cause  in  the  person  of  Miss 
Dorothy,  who  entered  the  room  directly  after 
him.  He  was  too  cross  to  be  polite,  but  his 
wife  greeted  her  unwelcome  guest  cordially. 
She  always  made  the  best  of  every  thing,  even 
of  sympathy. 

"  Take  this  cushioned  chair  by  the  window," 
she  said.  "  I  shall  have  this  work  out  of  the 
way  directly.  I  didn't  hear  the  door-bell,  Ed- 
ward, or  I  should  have  answered  it.  I  dare  say 
that  Miss  Dorothy  will  excuse  you  if  you  return 
to  your  study.  A  minister's  time  is  always 
precious,  you  know,"  she  added,  turning  with  a 
bright  smile  to  her  guest. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  A  man  cannot  preach 
without  studying.  But  it  is  not  always  the 


278  Sympathy. 

study  of  books  that  is  necessary.  A  minister 
needs  to  study  his  people,  to  mingle  with  them 
familiarly  if  he  would  do  them  good.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Brother  Mason  ?  " 

The  minister,  whose  especial  trial  was  pas- 
toral visiting,  gave  a  somewhat  grudging  assent 
to  this  question. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Allen,  the  preacher  in  Lake- 
ville.  He  isn't  much  of  a  preacher,  but  he  is 
successful  in  his  work.  He  goes  among  the 
people  and  interests  himself  in  their  affairs,  and 
they  feel  as  if  he  was  one  of  themselves.  He 
don't  freeze  people  to  death,"  said  Miss  Dor- 
othy, having  the  reception  that  Mr.  Mason  had 
given  her  still  fresh  in  her  mind.  "Nobody 
would  ever  mistake  him  for  an  iceberg  in 
human  form.  His  parishioners  are  sure  of  a 
welcome  when  they  take  the  trouble  to  call  at 
his  house." 

"  He  is  a  particular  friend  of  ours,"  responded 
Mrs.  Mason  quickly,  afraid  that  her  husband 
would  speak.  His  ungracious  mood  was  not 
usual  with  him,  and  the  visitor  did  not  know 
that,  while  suffering  with  a  nervous  headache 
himself,  he  had  spent  the  whole  of  the  previous 
night  by  the  couch  of  a  dying  child,  soothing 


Sympathy.  279 

its  agonies  and  speaking  words  of  comfort  to 
the  sorrowing  parents. 

"  Is  he  ? "  said  Miss  Dorothy.  "  I  suppose 
he  is  a  friend  to  every  body,  as  a  minister  ought 
to  be.  There  is  old  Mrs.  Draper.  She  is  a 
member  of  his  Church.  She  told  me  that  she 
believed  he  was  as  anxious  that  her  butter 
should  get  the  prize  at  the  fair  as  if  he  had 
made  it  himself.  He  can  lead  his  people  any- 
where. They  follow  him  just  as  sheep  follow 
their  shepherd.  They  prosper,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  There  is  no  trouble  in  raising  his 
salary.  When  people  like  their  minister  the 
money  comes  easy." 

Mr.  Mason  saw  the  beseeching  look  on  his 
wife's  face,  and  answered  civilly,  "  I  am  glad  to 
hear  of  their  prosperity." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  preacher  with 
whom  you  exchanged  last  Sunday?" 

"  Hitchcock — William  Hitchcock." 

"  Now  he  is  what  I  call  a  preacher.  Our  folks 
were  all  delighted  with  him.  The  church  'was 
crowded.  I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  such  a 
congregation  out.  It  was  a  treat  to  hear  him." 

"Yes,  Brother  Hitchcock  is  an  excellent 
preacher." 


280  Sympathy. 

"I  wonder  how  folks  feel  who  hear  such 
preaching  all  the  time.  I  was  speaking  about 
it  to  Mrs.  Taylor  on  our  way  home  from  meet- 
ing, and  she  said  we  should  be  too  proud  as  a 
society  if  he  were  our  preacher." 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  Brother  Hitch- 
cock is  a  humble,  devoted  man.  I  don't  think 
he  would  lead  you  far  astray." 

"  The  evening  prayer-meeting  was  very  spir- 
itual. Brother  Smith  spoke.  You  know  he 
hardly  ever  takes  any  part.  He  said  that  he 
was  thankful  to  hear  once  more  some  real 
Gospel  sermons.  He  had  been  hungering  for 
the  Word  a  long  time,  but  now  his  soul  had 
been  fed." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  were  all 
pleased  and  benefited." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be.  I  told  Ruthie  I  would 
run  down  and  tell  you  about  it.  It  is  pleasant 
to  bring  a  word  of  comfort.  But  I  must  bid 
you  good  afternoon  now,  for  I  want  to  call  at 
several  places.  Mrs.  Butler's  Jimmie  is  sick. 
The  doctor  don't  tell  what  the  matter  is,  but 
the  child  has  been  exposed  to  the  small-pox, 
and  I  think  his  mother  ought  to  know  it." 

"  Jimmie  died  this  morning  of  scarlatina.     His 


Sympathy.  28 1 

poor  parents  are  in  sad  affliction.  This  is  the 
third  child  that  they  have  lost,  you  know." 

"  O,  dear !  is  the  child  dead  ?  How  very  sud- 
den !  I  must  go  down  there  as  fast  as  I  can." 

The  minister  looked  bluer  than  ever  as  Miss 
Dorothy  departed  on  her  mission  of  comfort, 
but  his  wife  laughed  cheerily. 

"  I  wonder,  May,  that  you  can  smile,"  he  said 
in  a  vexed  tone.  "  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing 
to  laugh  at." 

"  No  ?  Sit  down  here  a  minute,  I  want  to 
tell  you  something.  I  met  a  member  of  Brother 
Hitchcock's  Church  at  Sister  Gray's  last  even- 
ing. She  told  me  that  his  people  were  so 
charmed  with  your  sermons  last  Sunday  that 
they  will  make  an  effort  to  secure  you  for  their 
pastor  when  Brother  Hitchcock  moves  next 
spring." 

"  Next  spring !  why,  May,  he  has  only  been 
there  a  year." 

"  But  he  is  unpopular,  it  seems.  Now  as  we 
shall  move  at  the  same  time,  it  might  be  possi- 
ble to  secure  him  for  this  place.  It  seems  that 
he  is  appreciated  here." 

The  minister  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  You  have  a  genius  for  planning,  May." 


282  Sympathy. 

"There  are  many  ridiculous  things  in  this 
world,"  said  his  wife,  watching  him  to  note  the 
effect  of  her  words,  "  but  I  know  of  none  more 
so  than  to  see  my  husband,  who  is  conscien- 
tiously doing  his  best  in  the  sublimest  work 
ever  intrusted  to  man,  looking  as  if  the  whole 
world  was  shipwrecked  and  he  were  account- 
able for  the  ruin  to  Miss  Dorothy  rather  than 
to  his  Master.  Confess,  Edward,  that  you  are 
ashamed  of  it." 

He  looked  up  more  brightly.  Her  sunny 
temper  had  often  dispelled  his  gloomy  feelings. 
"  I  think,  May,  I  will  go  back  to  the  study. 
You  will  reconcile  me  to  myself,  and  I  don't 
think  I  want  to  be  reconciled." 

"  No,  don't  go  ;  you  wont  study  if  you  do. 
You  will  just  sit  down  and  compose  sentences 
of  condemnation  against  yourself.  Besides,  I 
wrnt  you  to  help  me." 

"  May,  I  wish  you  would  give  me  the  secret 
of  your  cheerfulness." 

"Willingly.  I  just  dp  the  best  I  can  and 
then  let  it  alone.  You  do  the  best  you  can  and 
then  worry  over  it.  Now  as  God  does  not  re- 
quire any  more  than  our  best,  I  have  concluded 
to  be  satisfied  if  he  is.  If  he  required  any 


Sympathy.  283 

thing  more,  he  would  give  me  the  ability  to 
perform  it.  I  am  willing  to  exert  all  my  powers, 
so  are  you.  But  I  shall  not  creep  away  by  my- 
self and  get  as  blue  as  indigo  because  I  haven't 
any  more  powers." 

"  But."  persisted  the  husband,  though  his 
face  was  rapidly  clearing  up,  "  I  see  so  little 
success." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  that  is  God's  part.  You 
know  what  your  work  is,  and  you  do  it — that  is 
your  part.  Now  please  let  it  alone  and  help 
me  put  this  ironing  apparatus  away,  and  I  will 
make  some  biscuit  for  tea  as  light  as — well,  as 
light  as  Miss  Dorothy's  sympathy." 

The  blues  vanished ;  they  could  not  hold 
their  ground  a  moment  longer  when  opposed  by 
sweet  home  appreciation  and  common  sense. 

We  will  make  one  more  call  with  Miss  Dor- 
othy and  then  leave  her  to  the  accomplishment 
of  her  "mission."  We  will  tread  softly  as  we 
enter  the  abode  of  sorrow  where  death  is  reign- 
ing now.  The  mother  sits  almost  hopelessly 
by  the  side  of  her  dead  boy.  A  year  ago 
she  rejoiced  over  four  healthy,  interesting  chil- 
dren. Only  one  remains,  and  that  one  is  lying 

in  the  adjoining  room  dangerously  ill  with  the 
10 


284  Sympathy. 

same  disease  which  has  taken  her  sister  and 
two  brothers.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  poor 
mother's  brain  is  confused,  and  that  she  is 
nearly  distracted  with  grief.  It  is  not  strange 
that  the  crushed  spirit,  crushed  but  not  yet 
subdued,  should  rebel  at  first  against  the  unerr- 
ing wisdom  that  so  heavily  afflicts  her.  It 
nearly  crazes  her  to  see  the  neighbors'  children 
carelessly  playing  in  the  streets.  Pitying  friends 
attempt  to  soothe,  but  she  turns  away  from  them 
all.  No  one  but  God  can  comfort  her.  So  they 
leave  her  alone  with  her  dead  and  gather  in  a 
distant  room  to  pray  for  her. 

"  Ah,  this  will  never  do,"  said  Miss  Dorothy 
briskly,  coming  into  the  shaded  room  as  if  she 
had  a  commission  to  arrest  its  mourning  inmate 
and  convey  her  straightway  to  prison.  "  No, 
indeed,  you  must  not  give  way  so.  Think  of 
your  many  blessings." 

The  sufferer  gave  one  quick  glance  into  the 
composed  face  above  her,  and  then  buried  her 
own  face  in  the  pillow  by  the  side  of  her  dead 
boy. 

"  You  must  rouse  yourself,"  Miss  Dorothy 
continued.  "Think  how  much  worse  it  might 
have  been.  Suppose  it  had  been  your  husband 


Sympathy.  285 

or  your  mother,"  said  Miss  Dorothy  encourag- 
ingly, but  checking  herself  as  she  remembered 
that  Mrs.  Butler's  mother  had  been  dead  about 
a  dozen  years.  "  Or  suppose  they  had  all  lived 
to  grow  up  and  had  then  been  taken — don't 
you  see  ?" 

Apparently  the  mourner  did  not  see,  for  she 
made  no  attempt  to  answer. 

"  It  is  no  worse  for  you  than  for  thousands  of 
other  people,"  pursued  Miss  Dorothy.  "  Chil- 
dren are  always  dying  somewhere,  and,  no 
doubt,  the  most  of  them  are  better  off.  Yours 
might  have  run  into  all  kinds  of  sin  if  they  had 
lived.  And  this  was  always  a  sickly  child.  He 
might  have  been  a  great  care  for  years.  Now, 
my  dear  woman,  just  try  to  look  at  it  in  a  proper 
light.  Don't  it  look  reasonable  that  God  knows 
what  is  best  better  than  you  do  ? "  concluded 
Miss  Dorothy  decidedly. 

"  O,  dear ! "  sighed  the  poor  woman,  "  please 
go  away.  O,  why  did  they  let  you  in  ! " 

"Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you?"  asked 
Miss  Dorothy  in  a  stately  manner  that  showed 
her  vanity  to  be  a  little  hurt  by  Mrs.  Butler's 
rejection  of  her  sympathy.  "  I  am  willing  to 
do  any  thing  in  my  power  for  you." 


286  Sympathy. 

"You  can  do  nothing  except  to  go  away.  O, 
please  go  at  once  ! " 

Thus  urged,  Miss  Dorothy  left  directly.  Later 
in  the  evening  Aunt  Ruthie  stole  noiselessly  to 
the  poor  mother's  side  and  drew  the  weary, 
aching  head  to  rest  upon  her  own  bosom.  She 
said  not  a  word,  but  gradually  the  heavy  sighs 
grew  less  frequent,  the  convulsive  sobs  less  vio- 
lent and  protracted,  until  at  last  a  gentle  slum- 
ber crept  over  her  and  wrapped  her  sorrow  in 
forgetfulness. 

God  pity  her!  God  help  her  by  his  own 
sweet  consolations  when  she  awakens  ! 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  287 


GLIMPSES 


OF 


OUR  LAKE   REGION. 


y©  NOOG'S  POND  !  That  is  the  old  name 
j!5^f  for  the  clear  sheet  of  water  that  stretches 
for  two  or  three  miles  across  the  highlands 
which  overlook  one  of  our  thriftiest  New  England 
villages.  It  is  a  lake  now  ;  in  poetical  parlance, 
a  "  pearl  of  a  lake,"  blue  and  hyaline.  But  it 
is  the  same  old  pond,  and  there  is  scarcely  a 
spot  all  along  its  green  borders  which  has  not 
its  historical  association  or  childish  interest. 

Not  that  in  this  changing  world  its  banks 
have  been  permitted  to  remain  unaltered. 
That  were  too  much  to  ask,  though  inexorable 
Fate  might  have  been  fitly  entreated  to  spare 
us  the  rude  desecration  of  the  beautiful  which 
the  vandalism  of  man  has  perpetrated.  There 


288  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

are  long  lines  of  Irish  cabins  on  either  shore, 
and  the  fairest  ground  in  all  the  region  for  the 
prosecution  of  tasteful  architecture  or  landscape 
gardening  is  covered  with  a  set  of  low,  dirty, 
rickety  old  huts,  which  are  scarcely  fit  for  the 
habitation  of  swine.  A  pig  of  tolerable  intelli- 
gence would  lose  its  self-respect  and  its  ability 
to  fatten  properly  if  condemned  to  accept  so 
unpromising  a  dwelling-place. 

Notwithstanding  this,  when  seen  at  a  little 
distance  on  a  summer's  evening  there  is  a 
quiet  beauty  about  those  clustering  homes,  and 
an  air  of  homely  comfort  in  the  bearing  of 
their  etiquette-scorning  tenants,  which  is  curi- 
ously attractive.  The  shadowy  trees,  leaning 
over  from  the  hill-side  behind  the  cabins  till 
they  are  reflected  in  the  dark,  still  waters,  give 
a  coloring  and  finish  to  the  picture.  Women 
and  young  girls  in  the  quaintest  varieties  of 
costume,  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  sit  on  the 
door-steps,  or  gather  in  clusters  under  the  trees 
to  enjoy  a  Babel  of  loud  chatting  ;  and  the  men, 
returned  from  the  day's  hard  labor,  refresh  them- 
selves with  a  quarrel  or  a  fight  preparatory  to 
eating  their  suppers. 

It  is  a  question  whether  there  is   not   more 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  289 

real  enjoyment  of  life  and  less  anxious  care  in 
those  apparently  comfortless  dwellings  than 
in  the  more  imposing  homes  of  their  Yankee 
neighbors.  It  is  certain  that  the  torpid,  expres- 
sionless features,  the  pallid  complexion,  the  list- 
less air  and  languid  step,  which  are  the  signs 
and  seals  of  our  artificial  life,  have  no  coun- 
terparts in  an  Irish  cabin.  Our  cumbrous 
etiquette  seems  to  be  accepted  there  for  the 
hollow  humbug  that  it  is  ;  and  they  would  think 
it  a  poor  bargain  to  exchange  their  natural  free- 
dom of  action  and  strong  vitality  for  the  shal- 
low, paltry  aims  and  elegant  insipidity  of  our 
genteel  society.  So  far  they  are  our  superiors. 
There  is,  no  doubt,  an  element  of  satisfaction 
in  their  cozy  little  fights  and  animated  wran- 
glings.  There  is  no  ceremony  about  them,  no 
polite  routine  to  achieve  the  desired  recreation  ; 
but  an  off-hand  dashing  into  the  business,  a 
relishing  heartiness  in  the  good,  honest  "knock- 
downs," which  is  truly  inspiring.  The  whole 
enjoyment  of  the  affair  would  be  spoiled,  lost 
altogether,  if  subjected  to  the  conventional 
restrictions  of  refined  quarreling.  The  result 
is  delightful.  A  warmer  friendship  than  ever 
blossoms  out  from  the  rudely  shattered  loves 


290  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

of  the  past,  and  the  perpetual  renewal  of  the 
sacred  affection  keeps  the  heart  young. 

The  beautiful  "lake  region"  has  been  chris 
tened  New  Ireland,  in  memory  of  the  well- 
beloved  Erin  across  the  sea.  It  is  touching  to 
witness  the  feeling  exhibited  by  Irishmen  to- 
ward the  "  swate  jem  o'  the  ocean  blue,  me 
lads."  They  forgive  the  "  ould  counthree  "  its 
poverty  and  degradation,  its  ignorance,  and  its 
discomforts — discomforts  so  unbearable  as  to 
have  forced  them  into  exile.  No  matter.  We 
have  only  to  mention  the  old  loved  haunts,  and 
we  awaken  at  once  the  warm,  gushing  sympa- 
thies of  the  heart,  and  the  lowest  and  dirtiest 
bog  is  straightway  idealized  into  a  strip  of  veri- 
table fairy-land.  This  love  of  country  is  refresh- 
ing. It  would  be  a  treasure  if  the  Irishmen 
knew  how  to  turn  it  to  account.  We  have 
famous  patriots  who  are  doing  a  large  business 
on  a  smaller  capital. 

Glancing  up  the  long  street  into  the  heart 
of  New  Ireland,  we  notice  that  the  whole  place 
is  alive  with  some  absorbing  interest.  Even 
the  children,  the  dirty,  ragged  little  varlets, 
have  caught  the  general  enthusiasm,  and  are 
whooping,  und  laughing,  and  tumbling  each 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  291 

other  about  in  the  most  gratifying  manner. 
Look  !  Do  you  see,  what  it  is  all  about  ?  Jem 
Parian  and  Terence  Dougherty  have  come 
home  from  the  wars.  They  have  served  three 
years,  and  they  are  mustered  out  of  the  service. 
They  are  lions  in  New  Ireland  just  now.  You 
may  be  sure  of  that.  No  wonder  that  the 
women  are  so  noisily  joyful,  for  during  all  this 
weary  time  they  have  seen  two  patient,  lonely 
wives  living  on  the  expectation  of  this  day. 
There  is  a  new  baby  for  each  of  the  returned 
soldiers  to  rejoice  over  ;  not  a  wee,  helpless 
infant,  but  a  noisy  boy  or  girl  at  play  in  the 
street ;  yet,  in  spite  of  its  size,  the  baby  still. 
Both  nearly  three  years  old,  and  telling  plainer 
than  any  thing  else  of  those  long  months  of 
waiting.  What  a  number  of  older  children 
gather  about  the  two  men  !  They  have  grown 
out  of  all  likeness  to  the  Mat,  Bob,  Dennis, 
and  Peter  of  three  years  ago,  and  some  of  them 
look  nearly  old  enough  to  go  to  the  wars  on  their 
own  account.  From  their  black  eyes,  and  the 
green  and  blue  bruises  on  their  foreheads  and 
arms,  we  conclude  that  the  sublime  art  of  fight- 
ing is  not  unknown  to  them.  It  is  a  happy 
time  in  New  Ireland. 


292          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Let  us  turn  to  look  down  upon  the  neat, 
commodious  houses  of  our  Yankee  village. 
We  cannot  help  noting  its  evident  thrift,  its 
home  comforts  and  tasteful  adjuncts.  It  has, 
withal,  a  proper  look,  and  we  doubt  if  such  a 
general  expression  of  sympathy  and  honest 
affection  could  be  got  up  in  its  well-behaved 
precincts.  Our  returned  soldier  came  home 
last  night.  He  came  home  to  affectionate 
home-greetings,  and  in  the  evening  Keepler's 
brass  band  gave  him  a  serenade,  and  were 
treated  with  cake  and  iced  lemonade  as  usual. 
Half  hidden  in  the  shadiest  corners  were  faces 
radiant  with  unexpressed  delight  ;  but  our 
soldier  did  not  come  home  to  the  whole  big 
heart  of  the  community  like  those  returned 
Irishmen.  There  was  nothing  even  indecorous 
in  our  welcoming,  no  boisterous  exultations,  no 
excess  whatever,  whereas  every  son  and  daugh- 
ter of  Erin  will  be  jubilantly  drunk  before  ten 
o'clock  to-night.  They  would  be  ashamed  to 
be  sober  on  so  glorious  an  occasion. 

AILEEN. 

In  all  New  England  there  is  not  a  neater, 
smarter,  or  more  knowing  woman  than  Aileen. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  293 

It  is  fifteen  years,  "  laving  out  the  four  o' 
them,"  she  tells  me,  since  she  embarked  for 
America.  She  was  young  and  unmarried  then, 
but  she  had  a  lover,  "  an  oncommon  lad  and  a 
fine  one,  wi'  a  talent  for  keeping  still  nowhere." 
That  is,  in  American  speech,  a  rolling  stone 
which  would  not  be  likely  to  gather  moss. 

There  were  always  such  brilliant  opportuni- 
ties to  get  rich  openings  before  him  that, 
although  the  breadth  of  the  ocean  generally 
intervened  between  his  Eldorado  and  himself, 
the  golden  chances  gleaming  in  the  distance 
quite  prevented  his  giving  his  mind  to  the 
accomplishment  of  the  work  at  hand.  This 
trait  in  his  character  often  made  him  a  trial 
rather  than  a  comfort  to  his  betrothed  ;  but  it 
was  seldom  that  she  could  look  into  his  hand- 
some face  without  forgetting  his  faults  alto- 
gether. And  yet  her  strong  common-sense 
kept  her  from  becoming  his  wife.  She  was 
prophet  enough  to  foretell  the  result,  and  had 
too  much  pride  to  experience  it. 

"  It's  a  lady  I'll  make  of  yees,  Aileen,"  he 
would  say.  "An  ye'll  marry  me  at  once  and 
narry  a  bother  more,  it's  off  I'll  be  directly  a 
^  o'  me  fortune." 


294          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  No  doot  o'  that,"  responded  matter-of-fact 
Aileen.  "  I  can  belave  that,  and  more,  if  ye 
plaze." 

"  Belave  what  ? " 

"  That  ye'll  be  off  directly,  shure.  Ye're  that 
onasy  that  nothing  on  arth,  barrin'  the' skirling 
from  one  town  or  counthree  to  anither,  can  kape 
ye  quiet  at  all ;  but  I'll  no  marry  ye,  Dennis, 
till  ye  settle  to  something." 

"  Now,  thin,  Aileen,  darlint,  how  can  ye  be  so 
onrasonable  ?  Isn't  it  for  yer  own  sake  that  I 
want  to  be  rich  ?  Bother  the  goold,  an'  espe- 
cially the  working  for  it,  an  it  were  to  be  spint 
on  meself.  Think  better  of  it,  and  let  me  spake 
to  Father  Adrian  at  once." 

"  No,  indade.  Whin  ye  give  up  yer  grand 
scheming,  and  work  for  yer  livin'  I  shall  be 
ready  for  the  praste.  But  I'll  not  work  for 
your  praties,  lad,  afther  earnin'  me  own.  Not 
I !  An  ye  were  a  thousand  times  handsomer 
than  yerself  I  would  stick  to  that  same." 

Aileen  looked  pretty  enough  while  making 
her  protest  of  independence  to  have  settled  the 
mind  of  any  common  lover  to  remain  with  her, 
and  work  for  her,  too ;  but  Dennis  Maylan  could 
not  so  easily  part  with  his  wonderful  fancies. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  295 

"Arrah,  Aileen,"  he  said,  "jist  think  of 
the  dee  when  ye'll  ride  in  yer  own  carriage, 

darlin'." 

» 

"  Don't  lave  till  ye'ye  paid  for  yer  coat, 
Dennis." 

"  It's  scarce  worth  its  price  now,  Aileen," 
replied  Dennis,  composedly  displaying  a  couple 
of  rents  in  the  elbows. 

"  It  was  too  fine  to  last.  But  ye're  in  debt 
for  it  the  same.  A  hard-workin'  man  is  Larry, 
an'  too  oblaging  for  his  own  good,  or  he'd  not 
trust  paple  to  wear  out  clothes  before  pay  in' 
for  them." 

"  I  will  pay  for  it  wi'  the  first  money  I 
get." 

"  He  has  four  lads  o'  his  own,  Dennis,  and  all 
his  dead  sister's  children  to  mind.  It  were  a 
sore  shame  an  ye  should  forget  yer  debt  to  him, 
an  he  strugglin'  to  shoulder  his  burden." 

"  I'll  not  forget,"  again  promised  Dennis. 
"  An  when  I  come  home  from  Australia  he'll 
find  me  a  frind  worth  havin',  I'll  promise 
yees." 

"He  kapes  the  bit  laddies  both  bluff  and 
tidy.  He  is  mother  and  father  both  to  the 
orphans.  Ye'll  remember  it,  Dennis  ? " 


296          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region, 

"Av  coorse.  An  ye  shall  set  oop  the  lile 
lads  in  thrade,  Aileen,  and  we'll  build  a  snoog 
cabin  for  the  ould  tailor.  We'll  not  be  getting 
stinginess  wi'  our  riches.  That  would  spoil 
all,"  said  Dennis,  smiling  benevolently  over  the 
bounteous  provision  in  store  for  his  worthy 
creditor. 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  to  lay  out  the  goold 
when  we  have  it  in  hand,"  suggested  Aileen, 
"  though  for  the  matther  o'  that  we  will  be  blind 
wi'  ould  age  when  it  comes.  Ye  can  go  to  Aus- 
tralia whinever  ye  mind.  I'll  not  hinder  ye. 
I'll  go  wi'  me  Uncle  Matt  to  America  the  while. 
That's  the  counthree  for  me.." 

"  Will  ye  truly,  acushla  ? " 

Dennis  threw  his  old  straw  hat  into  the  air  and 
cut  out  such  a  variety  of  new  dancing  steps  in 
his  animated  evolutions  about  the  room  that 
Aileen  paused  in  her  work  from  sheer  ad- 
miration. 

"  I  go  with  yees,  Aileen.  I'll  be  yer  coom- 
pany.  It's  better  than  Australia,  a  long  way  ; 
and  we'll  not  be  parted  aither.  It's  a  fine  plan 
intirely ;  good  luck  to  it !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aileen  quietly. 

"  Say  that  ye' re  glad  o'  the  change  that  kapes 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          297 

us  togither,  mavourneen.  Ye  look  so  cool  and 
continted  like  it  half  angers  me." 

Aileen  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  It's  no  good  to  be  glad,  Dennis,"  she  said. 
"Ye'll  be  flittin'  again  as  soon  as  we're  safe 
landed  ;  there's  no  dependence  on  yer  brave 
plans,  barrin'  the  worrit  o'  hearin'  yees  rin  on. 
Ye'll  be  off  to  Californy  belike,  or  to  the  world's 
ind." 

"And  if  I  do,  Aileen,  ye'll  wait  for  me, 
shure." 

"  I'll  no  promise  you  that.  There's  Mike 
Phelan— " 

"  The  rusty  ould  pig  that  he  is  ! "  interrupted 
Dennis  scornfully. 

"  And  Terence—" 

"  Ay  the  milk-and-wather  laddie." 

"  And  Pate  Roan—" 

"  Och,  the  mane  red-head  ! " 

"  I  can  pick  from  the  three,"  said  Aileen, 
"and  no  fear  o'  drawin'  a  blank." 

"  Ye'll  niver  think  of  it,"  said  Dennis,  com- 
ing close  to  her  side  and  gazing  earnestly  down 
into  the  clear  blue  eyes  so  honestly  raised  to 
meet  his.  "  Ye'll  niver  think  of  it,  Aileen.  So 
as  we  have  grown  oop  togither,  so  as  we  havo. 


298  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

danced  at  the  fair  and  on  the  green,  ye'll  not 
throw  me  over  now." 

"  Not  till  we've  tried  America  togither,"  she 
replied.  "  But,  Dennis,  avick,  can  ye  pony  yer 
passage  money  ?  We'll  be  off  Tuesday  week, 
and  we  sail  wi'  me  uncle." 

As  Aileen  expected,  he  had  not  thought  of 
this. 

"  But  I  can  work  me  way,"  he  said  cheerily. 

"  I  will  pay  it  for  ye,  Dennis.  Och,  if  ye 
•would  but  thry  to  steedy  doon  whin  we  get  to 
the  new  horrie  it  were  a  pleasure  to  start  wi'  ye. 
But  there's  no  trust  to  yees." 

We  will  not  stop  to  recount  the  fair  prom- 
ises of  Dennis,  or  the  fresh  budding  hopes  of 
Aileen.  They  were  both  founded  in  air,  and 
passed  away  like  the  fleecy  clouds.  He  was 
off  to  California,  as  Aileen  had  predicted, 
within  three  months  of  his  arrival  at  New 
York,  and  she,  with  the  slightest  of  hope  in 
his  return,  but  with  a  heart  brimming  full  of 
love  and  vain  regrets  for  his  persistent  way- 
wardness, came  with  her  uncle  to  live  in  New 
Ireland. 

For  three  long  years  she  waited  for  him,  and 
then  she  married  Mike  Phelan,  who  had  fol- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  299 

lowed  her  to  America.  Mike  was  a  kind  hus- 
band, and  a  steady,  industrious  man  compared 
with  a  majority  of  his  countrymen,  and  Aileen 
was,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  quite  comfortable 
like"  while  he  lived.  He  died  in  the  second 
year  of  their  marriage,  before  their  only  child, 
golden-haired  May,  was  old  enough  to  lisp  his 
name  or  to  understand  her  loss.  After  his 
death  Aileen  opened  what  she  called  a  "re- 
spectable liquor  shop,"  and  as  there  were  few 
Irishmen  hard-hearted  enough  to  refuse  to  get 
drunk  for  the  benefit  of  the  widow  and  orphan, 
Aileen  prospered  finely  till  the  war  of  the  Re- 
bellion broke  out,  and  so  raised  the  price  of 
ardent  spirits  as  to  destroy  the  profits  of  the 
business.  Nothing  daunted,  she  at  once  sought 
work  as  a  day  servant  in  American  families,  and 
soon  established  an  enviable  reputation  both  for 
neatness  and  quickness  of  execution. 

Aileen  is  a  devout  Romanist — more  intelli- 
gent than  the  majority  of  her  fellow-worshipers, 
for  she  can  read  and  is  fond  of  her  book,  but 
as  staunch  a  Catholic  as  the  most  ignorant  and 
bigoted. 

"  How  can  you  pray  to  the  Virgin  ?  "  I  asked 

her  one  morning  when  she  had  been  showing 
20 


3OO          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

me  her  pretty  bedroom  with  its  white  curtains. 
It  looked  very  neat  and  inviting ;  but  I  was 
attracted  by  a  small  ivory  crucifix  in  a  frame 
on  the  table,  and  a  rosary  hanging  above  it. 
A  picture  of  the  Virgin  and  her  babe  was 
tacked  to  the  wall  behind  the  cross,  and,  alto- 
gether, Aileen's  bedroom  was  a  cozy  little 
shrine  that  reflected  rather  strongly  upon  our 
more  careless  Protestant  worship,  if  only  the 
outward  show  were  considered. 

"  Arrah  !  we  niver  does  that,"  she  replied  to 
my  questioning.  "  It's  a  hiritic  lie  ye  have 
heard  shure.  We  pray  to  God  himself,  and  it's 
the  holy  Maria  as  takes  charge  o'  the  prayer, 
shure  ;  it's  betther  off  in  her  pure  hands  than 
in  our  wicked  ones." 

"  But  you  confess  your  sins  to  the  priest, 
Aileen." 

"  There  it  cooms  again.  Whathever  good 
can  come  o'  such  lyin'  ?  Didn't  God  himself 
give  us  the  pastors  and  teachers  r  An  how 
can  they  lead  us  if  we  shut  up  our  hearts  from 
their  sight  ?  It's  confessin*  to  God  all  the 
same.  O,  thin,"  said  Aileen  earnestly,  "  ye've 
surely  more  sinse  than  to  belave  that  the  praste 
is  our  God." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          301 

"  Not  exactly  ;  but  his  will  is  your  law,  and 
his  word  is  God's  word  to  the  most  of  you." 

"  Wherehever  did  yees  get  the  quare  notions  ? 
Ye  should  be  a  Catholic  and  judge  for  yerself. 
Ye'd  like  it,  shure  ;  and  ye  deserve  a  religion  wi' 
some'at  to  it.  Ye'd  be  a  saint,  belike,  wi'  yer 
fine  warm  heart  and  feelin'  for  the  poor." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  good  opinion.  Do 
you  understand  the  service  in  your  Church, 
Aileen  ? " 

"  As  much  as  I  nade  of  it,  ma'am." 

"  And  you  really  find  comfort  in  your  relig- 
ion ? "  I  asked  incredulously,  struck  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  by  Aileen's  cheerful  contentment. 

"  Coomfort,  ma'am  ?  An  what  would  I  do 
without  it  ?  It's  a  rare  coward  I  am,  and  no 
disputing  it  ;  but  when  I  kneel  down  at  night 
wi'  lile  May,  and  go  from  ind  to  ind  o'  the 
rosary  yon,  we  can  crape  into  bed  and  slape 
without  fear.  No  harm  on  earth  can  coom  to 
us  then.  And  so  I  just  leave  the  door  and 
windows  open  for  the  air." 

I  questioned  no  further.  How  much  of  real 
trust  in  God  and  faith  in  Christ  may  be  hidden 
by  the  outside  trappings  of  Romanism  I  cannot 
say,  but  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  disturb 


3O2  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Aileen's  confidence  in  the  heavenly  watch-care. 
I  think  the  devout  Catholic  will  stand  a  better 
chance  in  God's  great  day  than  multitudes  of 
careless  Protestants.  Look  at  her.  Day  after 
day  she  works  steadily  with  her  hands  to  secure 
an  honest  living.  Her  little  purse  almost  opens 
of  itself  to  relieve  the  needy.  Her  cheerful  face 
and  obliging  manners  are  a  perpetual  lesson  of 
contentment  and  kindness.  She  believes  her 
religion  to  be  true,  and  she  is  never  ashamed 
of  it.  She  carries  it  with  her  every- where.  It 
would  be,  indeed,  a  terrible  storm  which  would 
keep  her  from  her  place  in  the  pubKc  Sunday 
worship.  According  to  her  knowledge  she  is 
consistent.  Alas,  for  the  contrast  with  our 
lazy  Protestantism  ! 

Put  her  side  by  side  with  the  fashionable 
female  leaders  in  your  Church.  It  does  not 
matter  to  what  sect  you  belong :  you  are  so 
unfortunate  as  to  number  among  your  reliable 
"  pillars "  those  who  are  also  the  props  of 
worldly  fashion,  and  you  have  them  in  your 
mental  eye  at  this  moment.  Aileen  has  no 
taste  for  the  "gold  and  pearls,  and  costly  ar- 
ray" which,  like  a  glittering  sign-board,  pro- 
claim their  hollow  hypocrisy.  The  pride  of 


Glimpes  of  our  Lake  Region.  303 

position  which  inflates  those  poor  perishing 
worms  of  the  dust,  which  asserts  itself,  even 
in  God's  house,  by  the  rustle  of  silk  and  the 
sheen  of  diamonds,  has  never  entered  her 
thoughts.  The  coolness  with  which  they  ignore 
Christian  duty,  and  their  evident  contempt  for 
those  who  painfully  bear  the  cross  of  Christ, 
would  be  incomprehensible  to  her.  Indeed, 
what  mind  can  fathom  the  hypocrisy  which, 
serving  only  self  and  Mammon,  puts  on  the 
holy  mantle  of  Christian  profession  and  brings 
its  unsanctified  offerings  to  the  very  altar  of 
the  Highest ! 

Good,  honest-hearted  Aileen !  Her  clear 
voice  is  at  this  moment  trilling  a  cheerful 
Irish  ditty  in  our  next  neighbor's  kitchen. 
The  cross  children  have  gathered  around  her 
wash-tub  to  listen,  and  the  pale,  tired  mother 
smiles  to  see  the  demon  of  ill-humor  so  easily 
exorcised. 

HINGHAM. 

Our  "  lake  region  "  presents  a  singularly  wild 
and  unfinished  appearance.  It  looks  as  if  it 
had  been  rained  down  upon  the  earth.  Not  in 
a  regular,  orthodox,  graduated  storm,  but  in 


304  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

a  helter-skelter  summer  shower — a'  shower  of 
great  drops  and  little  drops,  of  tornadoes., 
and  whirlwinds,  and  hard-knocking  hailstones. 
There  is  no  order,  no  method  about  it. 

A  man  wants  a  house,  and  straightway  goes 
out  to  choose  the  site  thereof.  The  streets  may 
run  any  way  they  please — all  ways,  if  they  like 
— for  he  does  not  take  them  into  consideration. 
When  the  house  is  built  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  make  a  street  to  it. 

The  incongruity  of  a  little  cottage  perched 
upon  a  hill-top  does  not  hinder  his  securing  a 
fine  prospect,  neither  does  it  tempt  him  to 
build  a  large  house  with  as  many  mortgages  as 
piazzas.  Very  likely  it  fronts  in  a  different 
direction  from  any  other  house  in  the  place,  or 
it  may,  without  meaning  offense,  have  brought 
its  outhouses  almost  into  the  front  parlor  win- 
dows of  a  neighbor. 

The  great  black  forges  and  factories  which, 
from  constitutional  necessity,  sit  down  in  the 
cool  laps  of  crystal  cascades,  make  a  prominent 
feature  in  the  prospect.  The  fate  which  has 
thus  thrust  them  in  among  the  dark  leafage  of 
the  primeval  forest-trees  along  the  river  banks 
gives  them  a  picturesque  aspect  in  spite  of  the 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  305 

long,  red  tongues  of  flame  that  gleam  from  the 
furnace  chimneys,  and,  on  stormy  nights,  throw 
a  lurid  light  all  over  the  village. 

Our  village  is  mostly  used  in  summer  for  a 
lodging-place.  The  inhabitants  scatter  off  like 
bees  during  the  day,  some  to  the  neighboring 
city,  some  to  the  splendid  sea-beach  at  Hull, 
and  others,  like  eccentric  comets,  shooting  out 
every  day  into  entirely  new  orbits.  Like  most 
sensible  people,  we  will  eschew  the  cities  and 
the  outside  sweep  of  the  comets,  and  spend  the 
afternoon's  leisure  in  a  drive  to  the  beach. 

We  have  the  easiest  of  carriages,  and  a 
horse  which  has  one  good  trait  and  one  not 
so  good  ;  he  is  quick  to  go  and  quick  to  stop. 
After  the  latter  trait  has  thrown  us  from  our 
seats  and  nearly  dislocated  our  necks  a  few 
times,  we  cease  to  believe  in  sudden  stoppages 
and  devote  ourselves  to  developing  the  other 
characteristic. 

We  pass  through  the  fine  old  town  of  Hing- 
ham,  and  ride  slowly  so  as  to  observe  the  elegant 
houses  and  pleasantly-shaded  streets.  There  is 
an  exclusive,  aristocratic  air  about  the  whole 
place,  and  the  trim  finish  of  every  thing  sug- 
gests a  comparison  with  our  scrambling  'Make 


306  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

region."  There  are  many  objects  of  interest  in 
the  place,  and  the  experienced  tourist  in  distant 
lands  might  spend  a  pleasant  week  here,  and 
find  in  its  living  beauty  and  its  perpetual  re- 
minders of  the  good  old  Pilgrim  days  a  refresh- 
ing alterative  from  stereotyped  curiosities. 

There  is  the  old  well-preserved  church,  the 
oldest  in  New  England,  and  -also  in  North 
America,  bidding  fair  to  outlast  the  youngest 
of  its  competitors.  It  is  still  a  favorite  temple 
of  worship,  and  as  a  memento  of  the  past  is 
worthy  the  reverence  and  admiration  it  receives. 
The  square  gray  tower  amid  the  great  trees, 
which  are  doubtless  older  than  itself,  involun- 
tarily recalls  our  ideas  of  English  rural  scenery 
and  architecture,  and  so  does  the  lovely  burying- 
place  for  the  dead,  which  stretches  over  the  hill 
slopes  and  valleys  in  the  rear  of  the  church. 
The  inside  of  the  church  is,  on  a  larger  scale, 
very  like  the  Puritan  churches  which  most  New 
Englanders  in  middle  life  can  yet  remember, 
but  which  are  nearly  all  removed  to  make  way 
for  modern  sanctuaries.  This  old  church,  stand- 
ing so  vigorously  upon  its  ancient  ground,  seems 
to  have  treasured  up  our  whole  childhood  for 
us  There  are  myriads  of  precious  associations 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  307 

nestled  snugly  under  those  bare  huge  rafters. 
That  perilous  sounding-board  is  full  of  con- 
densed childish  awe  and  wonder.  We  go  up 
and  down  the  intricate  alleys  and  sit  down  to 
think  in  the  square  pews  whose  latticed  railing 
makes  a  snug  inclosure  higher  than  our  heads. 
The  high  galleries  and  lofty  pulpit  are  not  so 
far  from  us  as  they  were  thirty  years  ago ;  but 
the  old  enchantment  of  distance  is  not  all  lost 
to  our  older  vision.  We  think  of  the  baby 
forms  that  used  to  be  softly  lifted  to  those  cor- 
ner seats  where  they  couldn't  see  the  minister, 
and  we  shut  our  eyes  to  watch  the  youthful 
growth,  then  the  maturity  of  human  life,  then 
the  half-unconscious  travel  down  the  slope  of 
time  to  the  rest  of  the  quiet  graves  so  near  us. 
It  doesn't  require  much  fancy  to  catch 

"  Rustling  along  the  sounding  aisles 
The  measured  tread  of  ages  past." 

But  we  must  leave  the  old  church.  Further 
on  our  way  we  come  to  a  famous  elm-tree,  a 
giant  among  its  fellows,  and  we  stop  the  car- 
riage to  examine  it.  It  was  transplanted  from 
England  in  1729.  It  seems  to  have  taken 
kindly  to  the  new  soil  and  climate,  and  to  have 
made  up  its  mind  at  the  outset  to  outdo  every 


308  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

thing  American,  and  it  has  attained  a  growth 
which  its  Yankee  brethren  have  striven  in  vain 
to  emulate.  It  is  not  so  graceful  as  the  native 
elm,  but  it  has  a  rugged,  haughty,  defiant  look, 
a  pompous,  exclusive  manner,  which  is  very 
characteristic.  It  is  a  grand-looking  tree,  and 
we  are  willing  to  do  it  homage. 

We  are  consoled  for  our  voluntary  humility 
directly,  for  we  come  out  all  at  once  to  an  un- 
broken view  of  the  ocean.  We  have  reached 
the  beach  and  we  are  ourselves  again.  There 
is  nothing  in  England  nor  anywhere  else  to 
beat  this. 

The  ocean  is  an  old  friend.  It  has  not 
changed,  like  every  thing  else  that  interested 
us  in  childhood.  Its  voice  has  the  same  heavy, 
murmurous  undertone.  The  green  waves,  miles 
and  miles  in  length,  their  white  crests  gleam- 
ing in  long,  foamy  lines,  come  hurrying  up  and 
break  along  the  beach  just  as  they  have  done 
for  thousands  of  years.  The  sea  has  never  been 
still.  It  tires  us  to  think  of  its  ages  of  unrest. 
There  has  been  a  gale,  and  there  are  white  caps 
all  over  the  distant  harbor.  At  low  tide  a 
white,  hard  beach  stretches  along  for  five  miles, 
making  a  ground  for  trotting  horses.  Ten  car- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  309 

riages  abreast  is  the  usual  number.  But  we  do 
not  care  for  horse-racing. 

In  the  distance  is  Minot's  Ledge,  not  yet 
ready  to  succumb  again  to  old  Neptune,  who 
still  carries  on  his  vigorous  siege.  The  break- 
neck sort  of  recklessness  with  which  the  great 
waves  gather  their  strength  and  dash  them- 
selves into  nonentity  upon  the  rocky  base  of 
the  beacon  almost  frightens  us.  Their  baffled 
power  and  ferocious  persistence  assume  a  cer- 
tain intelligence  in  our  eyes,  and  human  skill, 
for  the  time,  seems  a  frail  reed  to  trust  to. 
There  are  several  ships  and  smaller  craft  ap- 
parently near  the  ledge,  and  just  coming  round 
by  the  Boston  light  is  a  brig.  They  had  better 
be  shy  of  coming  this  way. 

Alas,  how  many  times  has  this  beautiful 
beach  been  strewn  with  the  spoils  of  the  angry 
deep !  There  is  a  wreck  here  now.  It  lies  on 
the  shore,  an  unsightly  skeleton,  all  its  grace 
and  beauty  gone  forever.  It  has  not  the  sad  in- 
terest of  many  others,  for  the  crew  were  saved. 

We  do  not  tire  of  the  sublime  view,  but  we 
notice  after  a  time  that  the  day  is  not  waiting 
for  us,  and  that  we  must,  however  reluctantly, 
turn  our  faces  homeward. 


3IO          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

The  evening  boat  for  Boston  is  just  leaving 
the  Hingham  wharf  as  we  come  back  to  the 
stately  old  town.  We  stop  to  watch  its  easy 
march  across  the  waters,  and  then,  not  yet  tired 
of  our  antiquarian  researches,  we  drive  briskly 
away  to  look  at  an  old  bridge.  It  has  a  partic- 
ular interest  for  us  because  it  has  always  been 
a  toll-bridge  and  is  to  be  free  to-morrow.  We 
expect  it  will  somehow  put  on  a  different  look 
now,  a  sort  of  independent  bearing.  But  it  don't. 
It  has  the  same  old,  stolid  aspect.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  ennoble  many  things  besides  human 
nature ;  and  this  bridge,  which  has  been  dis- 
cussed and  quarreled  over  enough  to  secure  an 
enviable  notoriety,  is  the  same  stupid,  wooden 
concern  that  it  ever  was  ;  its  manifest  destiny, 
to  be  trodden  under  foot  of  men. 

But  it  isn't  free  yet,  and  an  old  man  comes 
slowly  out  to  take  the  usual  toll.  How  natural 
he  looks !  He  is  one  of  the  landmarks  of  the 
age.  He  came  out  just  so  twenty-five  years 
ago,  and  we  asked  him  then,  "  How  much  ?" 

"  Ten  cents." 

Now  we  prolong  the  dialogue.  "  How  long 
have  you  kept  this  bridge  ?" 

"  Forty-six  years." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  3  r  i 

"  And  now  it's  going  to  be  a  free  bridge  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  will  be  lost  without  it.  You  will  wake 
up  whenever  a  carriage  rolls  over  it  at  night. 
You  will  come  out  for  the  toll  before  you  think." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  about  that.  The  bridge 
is  to  be  free,  at  any  rate  ;  and  there's  going  to 
be  a  great  celebration  or  something  on  account 
of  it.  Processions,  and  music,  and  a  dinner,  I" 
believe." 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  for  it.  It  just  breaks  off  an- 
other link  from  the  old  times.  I'd  rather  pay 
the  ten  cents,  just  as  my  grandfather  did." 

The  old  bridge-keeper  begins  to  yawn.  He 
has  got  up  so  often  at  night  that  he  has  lost 
all  the  sentiment  out  of  his  soul,  and,  just  as 
likely  as  not,  is  thinking  that  it  will  not  be  dis- 
agreeable to  hug  his  warm  pillow  on  a  winter's 
night  instead  of  hurrying  up  to  open  the  gate. 
So  we  leave  him,  and,  rumbling  over  the  old 
bridge,  get  up  a  poetic  rapture  over  a  shady, 
green  hill-slope  and  meadow,  with  demure  sheep 
and  tricky,  frolicsome  lambs  browsing  upon  the 
juicy  herbage.  The  sunset's  crimson  light  gives 
a  rich  coloring  to  every  shrub  and  tree,  and 
duplicates  itself  in  the  shining  pool  of  water  at 


3 1 2  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

the  foot  of  the  hill.  And  this,  with  a  score  of 
companion  pictures,  occupies  us  till  we  come 
back  with  a  hungry  interest  in  tea,  and  bread, 
and  butter,  to  our  own  "lake  region,"  with  its 
odds  and  ends,  its  strange  contrasts  and  quaint 
independence  of  bearing. 

THE    INDIAN   HOUSE-ROCK  AND   AN    IRISH   WAKE. 

There  is  a  rough  old  rock  on  the  southern 
border  of  the  lake  which  has  its  historic  inter- 
est. It  is  called  the  Indian  House-Rock.  In 
the  days  of  the  old  Indian  wars,  in  those  times 
when  King  Philip,  and  Uncas,  and  Anawan 
were  famous  and  living  celebrities,  this  was  a 
pleasant  rendezvous  for  the  red  man.  There 
were  then  no  settlements  near  to  destroy  the 
wild  beauty  of  God's  own  handiwork,  and  to 
this  day  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  House- 
.  Rock  is  unchanged. 

It  was  one  of  my  favorite  resorts  in  youth. 
What  wonderful  dreams  I  used  to  have  as  I  sat 
by  the  water-side !  Idealized  after  my  fashion, 
there  was  nothing  but  poetry  and  freedom  in 
wild,  savage  life.  At  the  east,  where  the  slant- 
ing sunset  beams  now  fall  across  wide  openings, 
there  was  then  a  pathless  wood.  Every  green 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  3 1 3 

nook  was  well  peopled  with  strange  fancies, 
none  of  them  probably  so  strange  as  the  actual 
insect  and  animal  life  which  filled  them,  but 
more  suited  to  my  ideas  of  what  such  a  solitude 
ought  to  be.  They  come  back  to  my  memory 
like  realities  now.  There  was  much  that  must 
have  been  rather  real  then. 

The  old  rock  itself,  with  its  mysterious  cave 
and  long,  dark  entrance,  its  summit  still  black- 
ened by  the  fires  used  in  the  preparation  of 
food,  its  sides  almost  hidden  with  its  soft  beryl- 
ine  curtain  of  mosses  and  ferns,  with  the  olden 
sunshine  nestling  among  the  feathery  tufts  of 
drapery,  is  still  unaltered,  and  stands  a  present 
witness  that  there  was  some  foundation  to  my 
aerial  superstructures. 

There  have  never  been  such  cloudless  days  in. 
mature  life  as  those  half-dreamy  young  hours, 
in  which,  without  a  thought  of  study  or  toil, 
botanical  wisdom  came  of  its  own  accord  to  us, 
and  we  began  our  life-long  acquaintance  with 
the  unspoiled  part  of  God's  creation.  No  one 
interfered  with  our  notions,  and  we  built  up 
our  own  theories.  The  oven-bird  repeated  his 
"chee,  chee,"  close  by  our  side,  and  the  vireo 
fairly  boiled  over  with  melody  as  it  swung  on 


314  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

the  maple  by  its  lace-covered,  purse-shaped 
nest.  The  white  and  black  woodpecker  tapped 
away  on  the  dead  pine-tree  as  fearlessly  as  if 
we  had  been  a  silent  partner  in  the  same  firm, 
and  the  partridge  went  into  its  little  hollow 
under  a  bush  or  a  clump  of  furze,  and  laid  its 
egg  without  a  pretense  of  secresy.  Such  pretty 
cream-colored  eggs ! 

We  attended  the  bird  matinees  for  more  than 
one  season,  and  would  not  have  backed  down 
from  our  opinion  as  to  the  comparative  merits 
of  the  robin,  blue-bird,  bobolink,  and  thrush  to 
have  accommodated  Mozart  himself. 

I  remember  just  where  I  found  a  ground- 
sparrow's  nest  thirty  years  ago,  and  how  star- 
tled I  was  at  first  by  the  curious  whirr  of  the 
partridge  from  out  the  bush  growth  of  the 
thicket.  Ah,  hide  away  for  a  little  time,  dear 
old  memories ! 

There  was  a  wake  last  evening  in  New  Ire- 
land. Yesterday  morning  a  strong  man  was  lift- 
ing some  heavy  weight  and  burst  a  blood-vessel. 
He  died  in  an  hour  from  the  hemorrhage. 

For  some  reason  death  does  not  bring  such 
a  gloom  into  an  Irish  community  as  into  our 
colder-blooded  households.  It  seems  an  occa- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  3 1 5 

sion  of  rejoicing  rather  than  sorrow,  and  the 
actual  bereavement  does  not  appear  to  be  felt 
till  the  dead  friend  is  buried  out  of  their  sight. 
We  sent  a  messenger  to  ask  if,  without  being 
intrusive,  we  might  come  to  the  wake. 

"  Shure,  thin,  coom  an  welcome,"  was  the 
cordial  reply.  "  It's  as  fine-looking  a  corpse  as 
you'll  find  anywhere." 

That  was  true.  He  lay  upon  a  white  bed  as 
if  in  an  easy  slumber.  His  black  full  beard 
contrasted  well  with  the  pale  face,  which  had 
not  been  wasted  by  disease.  His  shirt  bosom 
and  collar  were  of  snowy  whiteness,  and  he 
wore  a  long,  brown  Thibet  robe,  which  covered 
his  feet  and  was  trimmed  around  the  border 
and  up  the  front  with  rosettes  of  ribbon. 

There  were  twelve  wax  candles  burning  on  a 
table  at  his  feet,  and  as  many  at  the  head  of  the 
bed.  By  the  side  of  the  bed  was  a  table,  which 
was  furnished  with  a  good  supply  of  the  indis- 
pensable liquors,  and  with  plates  containing 
cigars  and  also  snuff. 

The  room  was  nearly  full  of  people,  all  ap- 
parently in  the  best  of  spirits,  except  when  the 
season  for  wailing  alternated  with  the  time  for 

refreshments.     It  is  impossible  to  give  an  idea 
21 


316          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

of  this  wailing  to  one  who  has  never  heard  it. 
Its  unutterable  woe  goes  to  the  very  heart.  Its 
unintelligible  words  add  to  the  effect,  and  the 
strange,  wild  sounds  thrill  in  the  ear  for  days. 

The  still  presence  and  rigid  aspect  of  the 
corpse  does  not  inspire  either  awe  or  fear.  On 
this  occasion  the  friends  and  acquaintances  of 
the  deceased  crowded  up  to  the  bedside  as 
familiarly  as  when  those  closed  eyes  and  cold 
lips  smiled  an  answering  greeting  and  shared  in 
the  revelry. 

"An  how  do  ye  like  it,  ma'am?"  asked  a 
man  who  seemed  to  have  charge  of  the  festivi- 
ties and  to  be  rather  proud  of  his  position. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  yet.  We  are 
not  used  to  seeing  so  little  reverence  on  so  sol- 
emn an  occasion." 

"Ay,  thin,  it's  some'at  besides  riverence  that 
is  naded.  We'd  be  loth  to  lave  the  poor  fellow 
to  himself  and  he  but  jist  dead  aither.  We 
never  shut  one  off  in  the  dark  like  you  Ameri- 
cans do.  Arrah,  the  cowld-hearted  crathurs 
ye  are !  It's  a  lone  road  he's  to  thravel,  puir 
body,  and  it's  only  a  kindness  to  kape  within 
call." 

The  candles  are  kept  burning  till  the  body  is 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  317 

removed  for  burial,  and  are  often  carried  to  the 
door  of  the  hearse  before  being  extinguished. 

There  is  little  need  of  describing  an  Irish 
funeral.  Every  body  has  watched  the  seem- 
ingly endless  train  of  carriages,  of  every  con- 
ceivable kind,  each  crowded  beyond  all  reck- 
oning of  its  occupants. 

The  procession  starts  at  first  with  tolerable 
regularity,  but  is  soon  brought  to  a  pause  in 
various  parts  of  the  line  by  objectless  stoppages, 
or  is  thrown  into  confusion  by  the  interlocking 
of  wheels  in  the  constant  attempts  to  pass  each 
other,  or  by  the  sudden  whim  for  walking  a  few 
rods  which  seizes  at  odd  times  upon  every  man 
and  boy  in  the  company. 

An  Irishman  looks  forward  to  his  own  funeral 
as  a  sort  of  gala-day  got  up  to  honor  him.  The 
knowledge  that  an  imposing  display  will  be 
made  nearly  reconciles  him  to  the  after  seclu- 
sion of  the  burying-place.  Shall  I  ever  forget 
how  my  well-meant  condolence  was  received  by 
u  bereaved  widow  on  her  return  from  her  hus- 
band's funeral. 

"  Faith,  ma'am,  it  were  an  illigant  time. 
There  were  a  plenty  o'  pipes  and  fine  liquors  ; 
and  did  yees  see  the  funeral  itself?  Thirty 


3 1 8  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

grand  carriages,  and  no  ind  to  the  poorer  sort 
It  were  fit  for-aking,  and  it  seemed  such  a  pity 
that  poor  Jem  could  no'  see  it  himself.  It  will 
be  mony  a  dee  before  it  will  be  bate  in  these 
parts,  let  alone  the  big  sum  to  be  paid  for  it  all. 
Ochone,  Jemmy,  avick,  an'  who'll  do  the  like  for 
meself  whin  the  time  comes  ?  But  it  were  a 
fine  sight,  indade,"  she  added,  brightening  up, 
"  and  a  funeral  worth  the  having." 

There  is  a  curious  scene  enacted  on  the  ar- 
rival of  the  straggling  funeral  cortege  at  the 
consecrated  burial-place.  The  occupants  of  the 
various  vehicles  scatter  in  all  directions  among 
the  graves,  and,  throwing  themselves  upon  the 
mounds  which  cover  their  lost  friends,  break  out 
into  a  general  wail  for  the  dead  which  exhausts 
the  whole  gamut  of  agony. 

Then  the  inevitable  bottle  makes  its  appear- 
ance, and  is  circulated  freely  till  the  excitable 
Irish  brain  loses  its  balance  entirely,  and  the 
"  illigant  funeral "  results  in  a  row,  not  to  be 
forgotten  till  broken  noses  are  healed  and  broken 
carriages  and  injured  horses  are  paid  for.  But 
an  Irish  quarrel  or  fight,  no  matter  how  curious, 
never  outlives  the  occasion,  and  by  some  unseen 
providential  guardianship  is  kept  from  serious 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  3 1 9 

results,  broken  heads  being  accounted   trivial 
matters  in  New  Ireland. 


OLD  TIMES. 

I  hope  I  am  not  a  croaker.  I  say  not  in  my 
heart  that  the  former  days  were  better  than 
these,  but  as  my  eye  runs  from  range  to  range 
of  the  pretty  white  cottages,  and  notes  the  more 
imposing  residences  and  public  buildings  before 
me — all  of  which  are  younger  than  myself — I 
confess  that  I  should  like  to  recall  for  a  single 
day  the  old  scenes  as  they  appeared  to  my 
youth.  Memory  treasures  them  and  reproduces 
them  at  pleasure  ;  but  I  cannot  thus  exhibit 
them  to  others,  and  a  pleasure  unshared  is  but 
half  enjoyed  at  the  best. 

There  was  a  long  street  which  ran  through 
the  town  from  north  to  south.  It  was,  and  is, 
five  miles  in  length.  The  numerous  streets 
which  branch  from  it  now,  and  the  pretty 
squares  where  different  roads  meet,  had  never 
been  thought  of  then.  I  can  fancy  the  indig- 
nation of  our  stalwart  farmers  had  a  proposition 
been  made  to  them  for  streets  across  their 
meadows,  and  for  house-sites  among  the  most 
exclusive  nooks  in  the  broad  pasture  grounds. 


320  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

At  each  end  of  the  long  street  was  a  reverend 
old  church,  with  pens  for  pews,  with  high  un- 
painted  pulpit  and  galleries,  with  the  tunnel- 
shaped  inverted  echo  suspended  like  grim  fate 
over  the  preacher's  head,  with  great  staring 
windows  without  blinds,  with  side,  back,  and 
front  entrances,  and  the  bell-rope  hanging  in 
the  middle  of  the  church. 

Both  churches  were  literally  running  over 
with  doctrines.  Half-way  between  the  two  was 
the  Haunted  Rock,  a  huge  black  bowlder,  which 
stood  apart  from  all  other  rocks,  a  self-appointed 
guardian  of  the  highway.  It  was  an  object  of 
superstitious  fear  to  others  besides  children, 
from  the  fact  that  a  veritable  ghost,  wrapped  in 
a  sheet,  according  to  the  prevailing  fashion  in 
ghost-land,  had  been  caught  on  it.  Seen  on  it, 
would,  perhaps,  be  the  proper  expression,  ghosts 
not  being  "  catchable." 

The  old  churches  have  give'n  place  to  a  num- 
ber of  new  ones,  which,  while  agreeing  in  doc- 
trine with  the  old  and  with  each  other,  have 
rounded  off  the  unsightly  angles  with  tasty 
trimming,  interpolating  various  little  crotchets 
and  improvements  suited  to  progressive  people. 
Underneath  is  the  old  foundation  still  ;  the 


Glimpse.^  of  our  Lake  Region.  321 

rigorous  old  creed  asserts  itself  as  tenaciously 
as  ever  ;  but  it  is  only  at  rare  intervals  that  it 
comes  forth  to  the  day,  when  the  hammer  of 
some  spiritual  geologist  rouses  it.  For  the  rest 
of  the  old  time,  like  a  tired  old  bear,  it  content- 
edly hibernates 

The  Haunted  Rock — how  we  used  to  hold 
our  breath  and  hug  the  opposite  wall  if  caught 
on  the  road  near  it  at  nightfall! — has  been 
blown  to  pieces  by  vulgar  gunpowder.  It  has 
been  put  to  several  different  uses,  less  poetical 
than  its  former  position  as  a  ghost's  pedestal, 
such  as  walling  fields  and  underpinning  houses. 
•  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  a  separate  ghost  will  be 
furnished  for  every  block  of  it  till  the  perpe- 
trators of  the  desecration  shall  be  taught  a 
wholesome  dread  of  things  unseen.  There  were 
curiously  colored  streaks  running  through  the 
rock — real  ghost  tracks — which  would  have 
made  a  fine  study  for  a  geologist  if  the  town 
had  owned  one.  But  it  irks  me  to  think  of  a 
set  of  unsentimental  stone-cutters  deliberately 
drilling  holes  in  the  Haunted  Rock  and  blowing 
it  up  with  gunpowder. 

Up  and  down  the  long   road  were   scatter- 
ing dwelling-houses,  sometimes  two  or  three  in 


322  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

a  sociable  group,  but  oftener  a  single  farm-house 
rejoicing  in  its  cheerful  solitude.  Most  of  these 
were  one-story  houses,  with  an  honest  contempt 
for  stairways,  spreading  themselves  out  upon 
the  ground  to  any  convenient  distance.  They 
were  seldom  painted,  and  when  they  were  it 
was  not  to  make  them  more  pleasant  to  the 
eye,  but  to  make  the  clapboards  last.  So  the 
homelier,  substantial  colors  were  chosen,  and 
dark-red  or  orange-colored  houses,  with  white 
trimmings,  nestled  in  among  the  surrounding 
fruit-trees  as  contentedly  as  if  there  were  no 
other  colors  in  the  universe. 

The  school-house  was  red,  and  hither  came 
all  aspirants  for  knowledge,  from  the  tow- 
headed  urchins  who  breathed  inward  male- 
dictions upon  the  inventors  of  primers  and 
catechisms,  to  the  great  boys  and  girls  who 
came  to  school  in  winter  and  read,  and  spelled, 
and  ciphered,  and  recited  abbreviations,  till  they 
were  old  enough  to  be  married  ;  the  courtship 
often  being  done  up,  to  save  time,  during  the 
half-hour  school  recesses  or  the  noon  inter- 
mission. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  getting  an  educa- 
tion   then.      Any  body  could  do  it.      No  one 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  323 

supposed  it  impossible  to  become  learned  in 
one's  own  town,  among  one's  own  people.  All 
the  modern  fuss  and  worry  about  educating 
young  America  would  have  been  incomprehen- 
sible to  our  sturdy  farmers,  and  any  unusual 
scholarship — unless  a  boy  was  to  be  a  minis- 
ter— was  a  sign  of  "  a  weak  spot  somewhere." 
It  was  not  thought  necessary  to  understand  the 
enginery  of  the  spheres  or  the  compounding  of 
a  tornado  in  order  to  enable  one  to  mind  his 
own  business.  Our  brains,  such  as  they  were, 
found  ample  space  for  development  in  the  low, 
red  school-house. 

Not  far  from  the  school  was  an  apple-tree, 
which  all  the  urchins  of  my  time  will  ever  hold 
in  loving  remembrance.  There  was  a  natural 
seat  in  the  fork  of  the  tree,  where  we  could  sit 
and  leisurely  regale  ourselves  upon  the  juicy, 
scarlet-streaked  fruit.  Somebody  owned  the 
tree  according  to  law,  but  no  boy  or  girl  ever 
believed  in  the  ownership.  There  seemed  to  be 
an  instinctive  faith  that  it  belonged  to  the  chil- 
dren ;  and  as  they  were  left  in  undisputed 
possession  of  it,  the  owner  propably  had  the 
good  sense,  as  well  as  the  good  nature,  to  accom- 
modate himself  to  what  was  inevitable. 


324  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

There  was  a  pear-tree  down  in  the  long 
meadow  which  drooped  heavily  in  the  late  au- 
tumn beneath  its  weight  of  dark,  mottled  fruit. 
That  is  standing  yet,  gnarled  and  broken  by 
time,  but  O  what  delicious  pears  it  still  gives 
us ! 

The  apple-tree  has  gone  with  the  old  red 
school-house,  and  a  narrow,  stuck-up  two-story 
brown  house,  with  blue  blinds  and  with  a  hedge 
all  around  it,  has  pompously  established  itself 
above  the  dear  old  dead  roots.  It  has  such  an 
uppish  look  that  it  tempts  a  person  to  knock  it 
down.  It  looks  like  an  admiration-point  set  up 
in  the  middle  of  a  tea-tray. 

Purple  thistles,  and  wild  thyme,  and  barber- 
ries grew  peaceably  together  in  a  little  hollow 
near  the  school-house  ;  and  vigorous  birch  sap- 
lings, with  a  sense  of  the  disciplinary  virtue  of 
their  pliant  twigs,  obligingly  took  root  by  the 
very  door. 

I  remember  running  a  race  with  a  supposed 
spirit  round  and  round  this  hollow,  one  dusky 
summer  evening,  after  spending  several  hours 
over  a  forbidden  book  full  of  the  delicious  hor- 
rors of  ghost  literature.  In  vain  I  attempted 
to  beat  a  retreat  or  to  execute  a  flank  move- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  325 

ment ;  and  it  was  only  when,  half  dead  with 
terror,  I  sank  exhausted  on  the  ground,  that  the 
spirit  assumed  the  form  of  a  playful  black  kit- 
ten, which,  not  yet  tired  of  the  frolic,  sculled  up 
the  nearest  tree  with  a  "midnight  cry." 

It  is  like  journeying  through  a  familiar  land 
thus  to  go  back  into  the  past.  It  does  not 
weary  us  like  a  tour  among  new  objects.  Be- 
sides, we  can  journey  just  when  we  please,  and 
when  we  stop  to  rest  we  are  at  home.  Change 
of  place,  travel,  is  often  prescribed  for  the  sor- 
rowful, but  it  is  only  the  light-hearted  who 
make  journeying  a  pleasure.  The  heavy  heart 
cannot  be  left  behind,  and  its  grief  colors  every 
thing.  If  there  be  rest  anywhere  on  earth,  it 
is  in  the  old  "home  paths." 

I  pity  those  who  seek  for  friends  outside  the 
tried  home  growth  because  other  and  more  ele- 
gant associations  gratify  a  fastidious  taste.  The 
disposition  to  aid  us  in  need,  to  comfort  us  in 
sorrow,  will  crop  out  from  the  rough  and  out- 
wardly hard  nature,  and  the  toil-hardened  hands 
of  those  who  fight  life's  battles  are  the  soonest 
stretched  out  to  raise  the  fallen,  to  succor  the 
unhappy.  The  true  friend  who  gives  us  an 
occasional  healthy  snub  for  our  own  profit  is 


326  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

not  the  person  to  listen  smilingly  while  we  are 
slandered.  It  will  require  a  bold  tongue  to  de- 
tract from  our  merits  in  his  or  her  presence, 
and  the  harsh  voice  softens  to  sweet  music 
when,  in  our  extremity,  it  offers  its  uncouth 
consolation. 

I  don't  know  what  Solomon  meant  by  say- 
ing that  the  eye  is  never  satisfied  with  seeing. 
Perhaps  he  referred  to  his  own  eyes,  and  it  was 
doubtless  true  of  them.  There  is  an  old  man 
living  in  a  retired  spot  just  beyond  that  long 
belt  of  pines  that  serves  as  a  dividing  line  be- 
tween our  town  and  the  next  in  order.  He  has 
lived  all  his  life  in  the.  same  house,  worked  on 
the  same  farm,  done  over  and  over  and  over 
again  the  same  things,  and  never  was  twenty 
miles  from  home  in  his  life.  He  is  contented 
with  what  he  has  seen,  and  is  quite  unwilling 
to  see  any  thing  more. 

Once,  as  a  great  favor  to  a  friend  of  the 
family,  he  did  take  a  look  at  our  lake — Snoog's 
Pond — and  it  so  appalled  him  by  its  size  that 
without  waiting  for  his  escort,  he  sought  at  once 
the  security  of  his  home. 

"  I  declare  !  "  said  he,  "  what  a  sight  of  water 
there  is  in  the  world  ! " 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  327 

He  went  home  satisfied  with  sight-seeing. 
He  sits  by  the  wide  fireside  when  his  work  is 
done,  and  ponders  his  own  perfections.  He  has 
found  out  that  a  man  is  wonderfully  made, 
though  he  is  not  sure  about  a  woman  ;  and  his 
wife,  listening  to  his  infidel  opinions  on  the 
subject,  consoles  herself  by  remembering  that 
the  Bible  says  "  all  men  are  liars,"  and  that  "  it 
repented  God  that  he  made  man." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  remarked  the  good 
woman. 

The  very  air  of  the  house  has  a  self-satisfied, 
conceited  feeling  about  it,  and  you  have  a  curi- 
ous feeling  that  the  quaint  old  furniture  is  just 
going  to  crow. 

There  are  souls  which  seem  to  us  the  most 
wonderful  of  all  achievements  in  the  infinites- 
imal line — perfect  bijous  !  What  would  become 
of  them  if  God  did  not  charge  himself  with  the 
care  of  little  things." 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  he  is  just  as 
truly  active  in  the  prolongation  of  insect  life 
as  in  the  continuation  of  human  existence, 
and  that  the  same  skill  which  winds  up  the 
machinery  of  a  giant  mind  keeps  the  tiny 
intellect  ticking. 


328          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Coming  back  from  the  past,  I  turn  with  fresh 
interest  to  the  present,  and  note  its  improve- 
ments. There  are  many  pretending  places, 
made  popular  by  ephemeral  fashion,  that  do  not 
begin  to  possess  the  natural  attractions  of  our 
"  lake  region."  I  think  no  tourist  ever  beheld 
a  more  charming  view  than  that  now  before 
me.  The  hills  wear  such  lovely  shades  of 
green,  and  contrast  so  exquisitely  with  the 
dark  pyramidal  firs  which  diversify  their  slopes, 
and  there  is  a  pleasant,  exhilarating  light  upon 
the  ocean. 

Fort  Warren,  Castle  Island,  and  the  Island 
Hospital  are  all  distinctly  defined  in  the  clear 
air,  and  seem  to  be  our  near  neighbors.  With 
a  glass  of  moderate  power  we  bring  them  near 
enough  for  a  morning's  call.  Hush  !  it  is  the 
sea  preaching  its  perpetual  sermon.  Its  moral 
is  the  restlessness  of  mankind.  Its  changeless- 
ness  or  duration  is  a  strong  contrast  to  our 
short  life  and  certain  decay.  It  speaks  to  us 
of  the  infinite,  of  eternity.  As  we  listen  we 
feel  the  hollowness  of  worldly  pursuits  and 
fashions,  and  the  mockery  of  earthly  riches. 

Such  thoughts,  too  crude  to  be  brought  into 
tangible  form,  used  to  fill  my  childish  mind 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          329 

when,  with  my  lap  full  of  white  shore  pebbles 
and  colored  shells,  I  used  to  listen  to  the  surf 
or  strive  to  interpret  the  mysterious  whispering 
language  of  the  shells.  It  required  but  little 
imaginative  power  to  idealize  it  all  into  spirit 
utterances. 

"  Ah,  azure  sea,  the  ancient  sea, 
Blue  sea,  forever  young  i " 

"  IRELAND    FOREVER." 

Hark  !  It  is  a  strange  clangor,  unlike  any 
other  sound  in  the  known  world.  We  turn 
naturally,  on  hearing  it,  toward  New  Ireland 
for  an  explanation.  At  first  there  is  no  visible 
cause  for  the  uproar,  but  we  understand  it  all 
directly. 

Imprimis.  There  are  two  goats  racing  along 
the  south  border  of  the  lake,  kicking  up  their 
heels  and  shaking  their  horns  in  defiance  of  the 
whole  solar  system.  Close  behind  run  two  Irish 
women,  dressed  with  a  wholesome  disregard  of 
fashion  as  to  the  length  and  breadth  of  their 
drapery.  Shoeless,  bonnetless,  and  sleeveless, 
they  are  both  intent  upon  one  object,  which  is 
to  capture  the  foremost  goat. 

A  medley  of  ragged  women  and  children  are 
slowly  following,  and  by  degrees  all  of  Ireland 


330  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

that  is  at  home  turns  out  to  witness  the  sport. 
It  seems  to  be  any  thing  but  sport  to  the  actors 
in  the  little  comedy.  No  sooner  does  one  for- 
tunate woman  seize  the  goat  by  the  horns,  or 
by  the  rope  that  depends  from  his  neck,  than 
the  other  manages  to  free  the  animal  by  tear- 
ing the  hair  of  the  captor,  and  scratching  or 
beating  her  till  she  is  glad  to  relinquish  her 
prize  and  defend  herself. 

A  babel  of  comment,  both  friendly  and  other- 
wise, mingles  with  the  loud  and  angry  voices  of 
the  disputants,  and  there  are  dogs  barking,  and  an 
occasional  expression  of  sentiment  from  a  little 
coterie  of  law-and-order  goats,  who  are  watch- 
ing the  result  from  a  convenient  hill- top. 

From  the  confusion,  I  gather  that  the  two 
women  have  been  swapping  goats,  and  that  one 
had  repented  of  her  bargain,  while  the  other 
obstinately  adheres  to  it.  Both  claim  the  fore- 
most goat  and  ignore  the  other,  who,  for  the 
time,  belongs  to  nobody,  but,  like  the  apocry- 
phal slave  in  Southern  literature,  is  principled 
against  freedom,  and  shows  his  desire  to  be  ap- 
propriated by  sticking  to  the  company. 

Differences  of  opinion  now  begin  to  circulate 
freely  among  the  spectators,  and  harsh  words 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  331 

and  angry  gestures  betray  the  birth  of  a  legion 
of  separate  squabbles,  which  directly  begin  to 
take  on  a  special  prominence  of  their  own.  In 
an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  whole 
population  are  engaged  in  a  regular  "  shindy," 
and  one  or  two  women,  with  dark,  scowling 
faces,  and  with  stifling  thick  shawls  thrown 
over  their  heads,  are  seen  stealing  rapidly 
down  the  river  road  toward  the  house  of  the 
constable. 

It  is  impossible  to  keep  this  proceeding  se- 
cret, and  by  the  time  the  constable  arrives  with 
his  men  and  handcuffs  every  body  has  shaken 
hands  and  become  boisterously  good-humored, 
the  stray  women  and  goats  have  been  reclaimed 
from  the  hills,  and  a  satisfactory  compromise 
effected  over  a  mug  of  hot  toddy.  Indeed,  the 
whole  community  are  ready  to  do  the  honors 
of  Ireland  to  the  officers,  who  have  so  oblig- 
ingly left  all  their  own  interests  to  look  after 
theirs. 

It  is  easy  to  believe  with  Cervantes  that 
"  every  man  is  as  God  made  him,  and  often- 
times a  great  deal  worse." 

"  An  shure  I'd  walk  me  five  miles  ony  time 
to  see  a  good  fight. ' 


332  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

So  spoke  our  kitchen  divinity,  Bridget  Ka- 
trine, and  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  told  the 
honest  truth.  There  seems  to  be  some  indefin- 
able enjoyment  in  fighting,  and  no  one  dis- 
putes the  Irishman's  ability  to  get  it  out.  No 
other  people  will  fight  of  their  own  accord 
during  the  dog-days.  They  do  not  have  to  be 
drafted  into  the  service — that  is,  in  the  home 
department — but  they  are  always  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

This  was  the  laziest  of  summer  mornings. 
It  broke  over  the  hills  with  a  promise  of  scorch- 
ing heat  and  thunder  episodes.  It  required 
unusual  energy  to  dress,  and  breakfasting  was 
not  attempted.  The  bare  effort  to  live  seemed 
all  that  human  nature  was  capable  of.  Such  a 
languid,  dead  morning !  Such  a  hopeless  stag- 
nation of  soul  and  body  !  What  power  can 
reanimate  us  ? 

Hark  !  a  wild,  ringing  scream  from  the  "  lake 
region  ! "  Dear  Ireland  forever !  Our  hopes 
revive  at  once.  We  know  there  is  life  some- 
where. Like  John's  war-horse,  we  snuff  the 
battle  from  afar,  and  it  is  a  comfort  to  know 
that  our  inert  lethargy  is  not  the  rule. 

There  have  been  five  rows  and  two  thunder- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          333 

showers   since   morning.      The  air  never  was 
sweeter. 

"  Teach  us  gently,  father  Time, 
As  we  glide  adown  the  stream." 

As  I  muse  upon  the  honest  Irish  nature,  its 
impulsive  warmth  and  quickness  to  take  offense, 
I  involuntarily  repeat  these  lines  of  Barry  Corn- 
wall. For,  joined  to  all  this  warmth,  is  an  ele- 
ment of  youth  and  freshness,  a  sort  of  verdancy, 
which  contrasts  refreshingly  with  the  studied 
decorum  and  heartless  propriety  of  artificial 
life. 

The  Irish  songs  are  nearly  as  inspiring  as 
their  fights.  They  do  not  sadden  and  subdue 
your  spirits  like  the  plaintive  Scotch  airs  ;  they 
are  dashing,  bouncing,  rollicking  melodies,  with 
big,  hearty  choruses,  albeit  the  humor  is  often 
too  coarse  for  refined  ears. 

I  cannot  help  respecting  the  women  of  New 
Ireland  whether  they  are  drunk  or  sober.  They 
are  the  soul  of  enterprise.  All  the  gardens  are 
planted  by  them,  and  they  put  to  shame  the 
tilling  of  our  masculines.  They  have  early 
vegetables  about  the  time  that  our  tardy  seeds 
push  their  two  first  leaves  above  the  surface  of 
tue  ground.  They  thus  get  the  start  of  the 


331-  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

various  bugs,  which  are  all  full  grown  and 
have  attained  the  sharpest-set  appetites  by  the 
time  our  tender  shoots  are  juicy  enough  to  be 
palatable. 

They  do  not  often  plow  the  soil,  but  go  over 
it  laboriously  with  a  spade.  The  fatigue  is  not 
thought  of.  No  one  knows  better  than  an  Irish 
woman  how  to 

"  Help  gar  the  boatie  row 
And  lichten  a'  the  care." 

What  she  lacks  in  grace  she  makes  up  in 
robust  vigor,  which  is  by  far  the  most  useful  in 
her  sphere.  Our  sense  of  the  beautiful  may 
revolt,  but  our  common  sense  is  attracted.  If 
we  take  her  as  she  is,  with  her  rough  surround- 
ings and  enforced  ignorance,  with  her  natural 
affinity  for  dirt,  and  pigs,  and  unnumbered 
babies,  we  shall  find  much  to  respect  in  the 
zealous  effort  and  muscular  activity  which 
pushes  ori  her  little  vessel  and  keeps  it  abreast 
of  its  fellows. 

She  does  not  seem  to  expect  much  of  her 
husband,  and  it  would  be  a  blessing  if  many 
American  wives  could  adopt  her  philosophical 
theory.  He  is  a  subordinate  character  in  her 
establishment  If  he  behaves  well,  and  brings 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          335 

home  a  part  of  his  earnings,  instead  of  spending 
it  all  for  liquor,  she  is  mindful  of  the  circum- 
stance, and  considers  it  rather  a  help  to  her 
than  otherwise ;  but  she  is  able  to  push  her 
boat  along  without  his  aid  and  with  his  dead 
weight  in  it.  She  is  perfectly  independent ; 
there  are  none  more  so. 

Occasionally  we  find  touches  of  refinement 
among  these  women.  A  desire  for  knowledge 
and  an  attempt  at  neatness  will  sometimes  crop 
out  from  the  hard  soil  and  by  persistent  growth 
become  beautiful.  They  remind  one  of  the  blue 
campanula  growing  upon  the  rocky  steep. 

Aileen  is  one  of  these.  No  palace  boudoir 
was  ever  cleaner  than  her  little  kitchen.  A 
spray  of  sweet-brier  hangs  across  the  win- 
dow, and  in  the  strip  of  rich  loam  by  the  door 
are  marigolds,  hollyhocks,  pinks,  and  forget- 
me-nots.  I  have  seen  many  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, rich  with  carnations,  camelias,  purple 
wall-flowers,  pansies,  and  the  rarest  of  roses  ; 
but  the  humbler  flowers  of  Aileen  have  each 
their  lessons,  and  no  one  can  tell  the  value 
of  their  silent  sermons  in  the  heart  of  New 
Ireland. 

Her  child,  the  golden-haired  May,  is  herself 


336  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

a  flower — an  unpretending  lily  from  the  wild- 
wood.  I  often  stop  to  rest  in  Aileen's  room 
when  fatigued  with  walking. 

"I  wonder  that  you  have  never  married 
again,"  I  said  to  her  one  morning. 

She  was  sitting  by  a  frame,  quilting  a  silk 
cradle  covering  for  a  rich  lady. 

"  O,  thin,  I  should  be  blate  to  do  that,"  she 
answered.  "  It  would  be  good-bye  foriver  to 
pace  an  enjoyment.  It  would  be  rags  for  me- 
self  an  li'le  May,  an  the  bit  cabin  would  be  as 
dirthy  as  yon." 

She  pointed  contemptuously  into  the  open 
door  of  the  opposite  hut,  where  a  big,  lazy 
man  lay  on  t}ie  floor,  smoking  contentedly,  and 
a  room  full  of  dirty  babies  were  tumbling  over 
each  other. 

"  O  no,  Aileen,"  I  said,  "  it  could  not  be  so 
bad  as  that.  You  would  keep  any  place  tidy 
where  you  are." 

"  It  would  not  pay,  ma'am.  I'm  me  own  wom- 
an now.  I  goes  out  when  I  plaze,  an  coom 
in  the  same.  It's  many  a  chance  I  get,"  said 
Aileen,  with  a  touch  of  pardonable  vanity,  "  but 
I'll  no'  marry  again:  I'm  ower  keen  for  that." 

"  But  what  if  some  wonderful  turn  of  good 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          337 

fortune   should   send    your  old    lover,    Dennis 
Maylan,  back  to  you  ?     What  then,  Aileen  ? " 

"  O,  thin,  that  is  past  hopin'  for.  Belike  he's 
married  long  ago,  barrin'  he's  not  dead,  which 
were  as  bad  to  think  of." 

"  But  if  he  should  come  back,  and  should  be 
rich  too  ?"  I  persisted. 

"  He'd  not  look  at  me  thin,  shure." 

"  You  think  he  might  not  forgive  you  for  not 
waiting  for  him." 

"  Arrah,  no,  indade.  He's  no  fool.  Whath- 
ever  could  he  expect?  No,  ma'am,  he's  not 
that  onrasonable,  not  he.  But  it's  oulder  I've 
grown,  an  sthouter  as  well,  an  the  roses  have 
gone  from  me  cheeks." 

"  I  think  you  could  charm  him  yet,  Aileen." 

"  Indade,  an  I  could.  Shure  no  one  but  me 
knows  the  way  to  his  heart.  But  I'd  scorn  to 
trap  him  wi'  widowy  devices.  Ochone,  Dennis, 
avick,  where  have  ye  got  to,  mavourneen  ? "  ex- 
claimed Aileen,  pushing  back  the  frame  as  she 
spoke,  and  giving  way  to  a  passionate  burst  of 
tears.  I  was  truly  sorry  for  having  awakened 
such  emotions,  and  I  expressed  my  sorrow  for 
my  apparent  heartlessness. 

"  Niver   mind    it,   ma'am.     Niver    you   care. 


338          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

It's  nothing  new.  It  cooms  over  me  often. 
Even  when  Mike  was  living  I  could  not  be 
quite  free  from  it.  He  was  such  a  handsome 
laddie,  was  Dennis,  an — an  he  loved  me  so 
much.  There,  it's  all  gone  noo,"  said  Ailcen, 
smiling  brightly  through  her  tears  ;  "  an  will  ye 
plaze  look  at  this  pattern  ?  " 

It  was  a  vine,  and  was  to  be  quilted  with  crim- 
son and  black  upon  the  blue  ground  of  the  silk. 

"  Is  it  not  a  beauty  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  too  beautiful  for  the  use  it  will  be  put 
to.  It  wont  take  long  to  spoil  it." 

"  She'll  be  wanting  anither  thin.  The  spoil- 
in'  will  bring  grist  to  my  mill,  so  I'll  not  wape 
for  its  loss.  It's  leddies  like  her  as  makes  work 
for  poor  paple." 

I  thanked  Aileen  for  the  new  view  of  fine 
ladyism  which  dignified  it  as  a  necessary  evil. 
"  You  are  right,  Aileen.  I  see  it  now.  The 
extravagance  of  the  few  puts  honest  bread  into 
the  mouths  of  the  many." 

"  An  did  yees  niver  mind  that  before  ? " 
asked  Aileen,  her  eyes  opening  very  wide  in 
wonder  at  my  obtuseness.  "  Whathever  did  ye 
suppose  the  fine,  useless  paple  were  kept  alive 
for?" 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          339 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  reasoned  about  it  at 
all." 

"  But  ye  know  that  sorra  a  bit  o'  good  cooms 
o'  their  living,  barrin'  the  business  they  give 
us  ? " 

"Yes,  Aileen,  I  knew  that.  But  I  did  not 
know  they  were  created  for  that  purpose." 

"  Shure  they  were.  An  the  finer  they  dress, 
an  the  more  illigant  they  live,  the  more  work 
they  make.  They're  naded  ivery-where,  wi' 
their  pride  an  quare  notions,  an  their  flitting 
from  one  fancy  to  another.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"  Yes.  Thank  you  for  explaining  what  has 
often  puzzled  me.  I  have  often  heard  that  God 
made  nothing  in  vain,  and  I  am  glad  to  know 
the  use  of  fashionable  people.  What  do  you  do 
for  neighbors,  Aileen  ? " 

"  Neighbors,  is  it  ?  They're  ower  plenty  on 
all  sides.  I'd  like  a  lone  wilderness  for  a 
change  ;  but  I  maun  live  near  me  worruk." 

"  But  you  seem  to  have  no  intimate  friends  ; 
none  like  yourself,  I  mean." 

"Then  you've  never  seen  Kate  Carrol  an 
Margaret  Lillendall  ? " 

"  No.     Where  do  they  live  ? " 

"  Just  over  the  wather.     Do  ye  see  that  big 


340  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

rock,  all  covered  with  frostleen  an  ivy,  that 
pushes  itself  out  over  the  pond  ? " 

Yes,  I  see  the  rock." 

"  Look  just  above  where  the  goats  are  feed- 
ing. There's  a  boat  with  a  flag  on  it  on  the 
shore  near  by.  Do  you  mind  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  see  the  boat  and  the  goats." 

"  It's  but  a  step  down  the  path  beyond.  I 
row  meself  and  li'le  May  across  often  of  an 
evening  whin  me  work  is  done.  They  live  in  a 
cottage  togither.  It's  worth  going  to  see  of 
itself,  with  its  trees  an  its  flowers.  It  rests  me 
to  go  there.  An  there  is  me  friends,  ma'am — 
friends  to  be  proud  of,  an  to  love  .for  iver  an 
iver." 

There  is  something  touching  in  the  tried 
friendship  of  earnest  women  wherever  it  may 
show  itself.  True,  unselfish  friendships  exist 
sometimes  between  men  and  women,  but  not 
often,  because  the  more  egotistical  masculine 
nature  has  to  be  toned  down  to  a  certain  point 
before  it  can  reciprocate  the  purity  and  self- 
forgetfulness  of  real  womanhood.  And  so  it 
seldom  happens  that  the  sexes  meet  on  a  moral 
level.  Ah,  if  men  could  but  believe  in  the  hon- 
est friendship,  and  even  genuine  affection,  that 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          34 1 

looks  not  beyond  a  sisterly  expression  of  inter- 
est !  Their  strange  infidelity  shuts  off  from 
them  the  enjoyment  of  one  of  the  purest  of 
life's  pleasures. 

DARK    DAYS. 

Most  people  know  what  is  meant  by  dark 
days.  Not  cloudy  days,  when  the  physical  sun 
is  hidden  from  our  sight,  but  days  of  doubt  and 
gloom,  when  every  thing  is  out  of  its  place  and 
*ivery  body  looks  miserable.  Perhaps  this  view 
of  things  cannot  be  helped  ;  the  misanthropy 
may  be  involuntary,  or  it  may  be  induced  by 
unhappy  circumstances  which  we  cannot  con- 
trol or  by  bodily  indisposition. 

We  may  not  be  able  to  explain  our  condition  ; 
;ndeed,  we  seldom  try  to  do  that ;  but  we  either 
sit  down  sullenly  to  endure  our  trouble,  or  else 
go  steadily  to  work  to  make  others  as  wretched 
as  we  are  ourselves. 

I  had  endured  in  silence,  perhaps  sullenly,  a 
week  of  dark  days.  There  was  not  a  bright 
spot  in  all  the  world,  scarcely  in  heaven.  The 
nights — long,  sleepless,  weary  nights — were 
more  gloomy  than  the  days.  Ah,  I  said,  it  is  a 
sad  thing  to  live  just  for  one's  self,  to  have  no 


342  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

chosen  one  to  pray  for,  to  be  solitary  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd ;  and  this  dark,  hopeless  des- 
tiny has  Death  wrought  for  me. 

A  dream  roused  me.  The  best  beloved  came 
to  me  in  my  sleep  and  unfolded  a  glimpse  of  the 
limitless  future.  All  life's  darkness  melted  away 
in  the  sublime  presence  of  God's  hereafter.  It 
may  be  that  our  dreams  are  the  real  part  of  our 
lives,  the  fragments  of  our  spiritual  existence, 
the  only  part  which  is  able  to  reach  out  and  take 
hold  of  eternity. 

In  the  morning  I  read  of  that  kind-hearted, 
solitary  woman,  the  mother  Denis  of  Emile 
Louvestre.  "  Left  by  herself  in  the  battle  of 
life,  she  makes  good  her  humble  place  in  it  by 
working,  singing,  helping  others,  and  leaving  the 
rest  to  God."  I  understood  that  to  make  others 
happy  gives  one  heart  to  live. 

Outside  my  window  the  birds  were  singing, 
and  the  air  was  soft  with  the  breath  of  honey- 
suckles and  musk-roses.  A  little  lame  girl  went 
by,  hopping  along  on  one  foot  with  the  aid  of 
crutches.  She  looked  up  and  nodded  her  head, 
and  smiled  brightly  as  she  caught  a  paper  of 
bonbons  which  were  thrown  to  her  from  a  window 
below  me.  She  is  hopelessly  deformed,  and  is 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  343 

very  seldom  able  to  venture  on  the  street.  How 
her  cheerfulness  rebuked  me !  At  the  bottom 
of  the  valley,  in  that  long  green  house  with 
gables,  a  pale,  slender  woman  toils  for  the  main- 
tenance of  five  children.  She  is  not  a  widow, 
but  bears  a  heavier  sorrow.  She  is  a  deserted 
wife.  Her  little  Aelise  is  dying  slowly  of  con- 
sumption, and  yesterday  her  oldest  boy  was 
brought  home  with  a  broken  leg.  The  baby  is 
blind.  Not  a  murmur  crosses  her  lips.  Pa- 
tiently, almost  cheerfully,  she  bows  her  head  to 
the  baptism  of  sorrow.  I  cannot  choose  but 
be  ashamed  of  my  gloom  and  sadness,  but  they 
will  not  be  shaken  off. 

The  post  brings  me  a  letter.  It  has  its 
strong  words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement, 
its  gentle  reproof  for  sinful  despondency.  It 
counsels  work — steady,  absorbing  work — work 
for  the  Master,  who  "will  not  leave  us  com- 
fortless." 

Then  I  go  out  and  listen  to  a  sad,  sad  story. 
O,  what  a  pity  that  it  should  be  true !  Two 
years  ago  there  was  not  a  happier  family  in  all 
the  country  than  Edgar  Green's.  His  wife  was 
a  most  amiable  and  intelligent  woman,  and  their 
only  son  was  a  fine,  energetic  ycuth  of  twenty. 


344  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Mrs.  Green's  father,  to  whom  she  was  strongly 
attached,  lived  with  them. 

When  Arthur  enlisted  for  a  soldier,  it  was 
hard  for  the  parents  to  submit  and  give  him 
up ;  but  they  were  patriots,  and  the  country 
needed  him,  and  so  he  went  not  forth  without  a 
blessing. 

Four  months  ago  the  old  father  sickened  and 
died.  The  husband  and  wife  bore  this  sorrow 
together. 

Three  weeks  ago  the  husband  was  walking 
slowly  down  the  street  when  he  met  a  baby-girl, 
the  daughter  of  a  friend,  who  was  being  drawn 
in  a  little  chaise  by  her  nurse.  Stooping  to  kiss 
the  child,  he  suddenly  fell  forward  in  a  fit  and 
was  taken  up  dead.  All  night  long  the  stricken 
wife  lay  in  a  deathlike  swoon,  only  reviving  at 
intervals  sufficiently  to  understand  what  had 
happened,  but  utterly  unable  to  take  home  to 
herself  the  fatal  truth.  Then  came  a  wild,  in- 
tense longing  to  behold  her  son. 

"  He  is  all  I  have,"  she  said  over  and  over 
again  ;  "  surely  he  must  come  home." 

To-day,  in  the  list  of  the  casualties  of  war, 
we  read,  "  Arthur  L.  Green,  killed." 

Ah,  who  will  tell  the  mother  ? 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          345 

I  go  back  to  my  room  full  of  remorseful  pen- 
itence for  my  unthankful  misanthropy,  which, 
however,  still  clings  to  me. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  mornings  of 
summer.  The  grass  in  the  meadows  is  rippled 
into  sunny  waves  of  green  by  the  bold  wind, 
the  cattle  are  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  clover 
rations,  and  changing  shadows  dance  in  and  out 
of  the  little  hollows  where  blue,  truant  violets 
yet  linger.  Far  away,  over  the  hills,  a  fleecy 
haze  hides  the  line  of  the  horizon  and  curtains 
the  sea. 

The  people  are  crowding  to  the  house  of  God. 
A  soldier  has  been  brought  home  dead  to  his 
mother,  and  the  funeral  services  are  to  be  held 
to-day.  Almost  every  week  some  of  our  best 
and  dearest  are  reported  among  the  killed  in 
battle.  In  nearly  every  house  there  is  mourn- 
ing. In  the  aristocratic  mansion  and  in  the 
low  cottage  there  are  breaking  hearts  which, 
for  the  time,  refuse  to  be  comforted. 

The  days  of  the  mourner  are  long,  long  and 
sad  ;  but  God  is  merciful,  the  night  is  waiting, 
peace  and  rest  are  waiting,  love  and  joy  and  the 
fruition  of  hope  are  waiting  just  ahead. 

This  little  life  is  passing  swiftly  ;  the  eternal 


346  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

day  is  already  dawning  upon  the  mountains. 
As  we  go  forward  toward  it  we  cannot  quite 
help  the  tugging  at  the  heart-strings,  the  yearn- 
ing of  the  spirit  for  the  loved  and  lost  The 
whole  world  is  a  blank,  and  the  burden  of  the 
old  song  will  come  at  times  : 

"  I'm  aweary,  aweary. 
I  would  that  I  were  dead." 

Only  at  times,  because  the  sublime  truths  of 
God  remain,  and  we  have  faith  in  the  glorious 
future.  And  so  we  accept  the  brief  probation 
of  earthly  life,  and  thank  God  for  the  discipline 
which  purifies  and  ennobles. 

Not  that  we  ever  forget  the  dead.  They  have 
the  same  hold  on  our  affections  as  when  they 
are  living  in  our  midst.  True  love  cannot  die. 
Its  origin  is  divine,  its  strength  immortal.  It 
stretches  into  eternity,  where  alone  it  can  find 
its  full  development.  Its  essence  is  spiritual, 
and  nothing  earthly  can  counterfeit  it. 

Yet  God  pity  the  poor  mother  who  bends  to- 
day over  the  open  grave  of  her  son  !  In  the 
gathering  crowd  there  are  many  mournful  eyes 
that  have  no  more  power  to  brighten  with  joy, 
that  well  over  with  kind  sympathy,  that  will 
share  if  they  cannot  lighten  the  burden  of  sorrow. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  347 

A  narrow  river  runs  like  a  thread  of  silver 
across  the  meadows,  and  winds  about  the  hills 
till  it  reaches  the  £ea.  On  its  banks,  hedged 
by  willows,  is  the  village  cemetery.  There  was 
never  a  lovelier  place  set  apart  for  the  dead. 
It  is  a  succession  of  gentle  hill-slopes  and  quiet 
dells,  and  the  very  air  seems  to  breathe  repose. 
Those  I  have  loved  are  resting  there,  awaiting 
a  joyful  resurrection.  God  has  them  in  his 
keeping. 

Along  the  valleys  and  up  the  hills  the  south 
wind  brings  the  dirge  for  the  dead.  Its  music 
swells  up  from  the  hearts  as  well  as  the  voices 
of  the  crowd,  for  the  young  soldier  belonged  to 
us  all. 

Alas,  how  often  do  those  sad  notes  fall  upon 
our  ears !  Three  times  within  a  fortnight  have 
we  paid  the  last  tribute  of  respect  to  dear  ones 
who  have  died  for  their  country.  We  will  keep 
their  memories  green,  and  our  regrets  and 
our  reverence  for  their  heroism  shall  be  their 
epitaph. 

Dark  days  cannot  be  brightened,  the  heavy 
heart  cannot  be  eased  by  thus  contemplating 
the  sorrows  of  others.  The  shadows  deepen 

rather   than   disappear,  and  it  is   but  a  seffish 
23 


348  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

sort  of  consolation  to  feel  that  others  are  worse 
off  than  ourselves.  It  is  scarcely  a  Christian's 
kind  of  gratitude  to  thank  God  that  we  are  not 
as  other  men  are.  A  great  part  of  the  melan- 
choly in  the  world  is  sinful  despondency.  We 
hold  the  remedy  in  our  own  hands,  but  are  too 
lazy  to  apply  it.  We  sit  down  drearily  in  a 
corner,  and  brood  over  our  trials,  and  hug 
closely  the  demons  that  torment  us,  till  nothing 
but  a  herculean  effort  can  shake  off  the  Atlan- 
tean  load  of  depression.  And  all  the  time,  just 
over  the  way,  or  down  the  street,  are  missions 
of  mercy  awaiting  Christian  effort,  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  our  little  acts  of  kindness  will  react 
upon  our  own  hearts  and  restore  the  vanished 
sunlight. 

Get  out  into  God's  sunshine,  pale,  pining  mis- 
anthrope !  Put  your  shoulder  to  the  burden 
beneath  which  your  neighbor  is  sinking.  Do 
not  fear  to  lift  heartily  while.  God  strengthens 
you.  It  is  much  easier  to  do  great  things  than 
little  ones ;  but  it  is  the  quiet,  unpretending 
ministry  which  is  sweetest  to  the  helped  and  to 
the  helper.  Our  pride  desires  rather  to 

"Serve  God  much, 
Than  to  please  him  perfectly >." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  349 

MUSIC    OF    OUR    "LAKE    REGION." 

No  one  ever  disputes  that  our  town's  people 
are  musical  people,  or  that  music  is  the  alpha 
and  omega  of  all  our  enterprises.  The  curious 
stranger  cannot  get  rid  of  the  impression  that 
in  some  remote  period  of  the  good  old  colony 
times  the  place  was  settled  by  a  company  of 
cornets,  harps,  sackbuts,  psalteries,  dulcimers, 
and  all  kinds  of  music. 

Every  child  born  here  has  a  talent  for  music 
born  in  him  ;  it  is  inherent,  like  depravity.  All 
other  questions,  even  the  war  interests,  and  the 
election  of  the  government  officers,  are  obliged 
to  succumb  and  be  as  nothing  in  the  presence 
of  this  potent  monopolizer.  We  could  get  along 
without  being  governed,  without  paying  taxes 
to  restrict  our  own  comforts,  without  having 
the  laws  changed  at  our  expense  every  congres- 
sional term,  but  we  could  not  do  without  our 
arias,  quartettes,  and  choruses,  or  the  wondrous 
mechanism  of  our  instrumental  performances. 

In  our  churches  it  has  been  understood,  from 
time  immemorial,  that  all  the  other  parts  of 
the  Sunday  service  are  subordinate  to  the  or- 
chestral display,  and  no  quarrel  in  any  of  our 


350  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

religious  societies,  no  matter  how  serious,  is 
considered  legitimate  unless  it  originates  in  the 
choir.  Indeed,  the  singing  gallery  may  fitly  be 
compared  to  a  mammoth  brewery,  inasmuch 
as  a  generous  provision  of  infinitesimal  huffs, 
miffs,  and  squabbles  are  there  fermented  and 
bottled  up  for  preservation,  and  a  good  assort- 
ment thereof  is  constantly  on  hand,  orders  from 
any  distance  being  filled  with  most  agreeable 
dispatch. 

Clergymen  from  other  towns,  who  occasion- 
ally exchange  pulpits  with  our  pastors,  are 
awkwardly  embarrassed  by  finding  themselves 
of  no  account  in  the  sanctuary,  and  a  painful, 
stammering  hesitation  attacks  the  extempora- 
neous speaker  when  he  finds  that  his  pet  ser- 
mon is  only  endured,  and  that  the  audience  are 
impatiently  awaiting  his  last  sentence,  that  they 
may  give  themselves  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
closing  anthem. 

No  funeral  would  be  complete  without  sing- 
ing, and  it  is  not  unusual  for  a  circle  of  trained 
warblers  to  surround  the  grave  and  get  off  a 
final  combination  of  musical  noises  as  a  farewell 
salute  to  the  departed.  When  the  music  is 
well  chosen,  and  the  occasion  one  of  general 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          3  5  i 

interest,  this  last  custom  has  a  beautiful  and 
soothing  effect,  and  we  recognize  the  divine 
power  of  sacred  melody. 

My  pen  pauses  while  I  endeavor  to  sort  out 
and  set  by  themselves  the  various  harmonies 
now  being  performed  in  my  immediate  neigh- 
borhood. First,  in  the  parlor  below  me,  a  fine 
tenor  voice  is  singing  a  song  to  a  piano  accom- 
paniment. I  just  catch  the  refrain,  "  Hark  !  I 
hear  an  angel  sing."  To  the  compauy  in  the 
parlor,  who  hear  it  by  itself,  it  is  doubtless  very 
sweet ;  but  just  across  the  way  are  two  fiddles 
and  a  flute  in  full  blast.  A  lad  on  the  bridge  is 
making  his  first  attempt  with  a  French  horn. 
He  seems,  judging  from  the  effect,  to  fill  the 
instrument  uncomfortably  full  of  music  before 
letting  any  off,  and  the  pent-up  sounds,  when 
they  do  get  a  chance  to  escape,  come  dashing 
out  without  any  attempt  at  order.  A  solitary 
violoncello  is  groaning  by  itself  in  the  next 
house ;  and  from  a  little  further  down  the 
street  we  get  occasional  touches  of  a  sprightly 
waltz,  which  is  being  done  conjointly  by  a  fid- 
dle and  a  piano. 

A  young  boy  sits  in  the  lighted  upper  win- 
dow of  another  house,  on  the  opposite  side  of 


352  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

the  street,  after  the  fashion  of  Eutychus,  ex- 
hibiting such  a  power  of  shrill  whistle  in  his 
endeavors  to  render  "  John  Brown  "  vigorously 
that  we  can  scarcely  help  the  amiable  wish  to 
see  him  further  imitate  the  famous  sleeper  by 
falling  to  the  ground.  Ringing  out  above  all,  the 
cracked  bell  of  the  town  clock  is  snappishly  in- 
sisting that  it  is  fourteen  o'clock  instead  of  ten, 
as  my  watch  indicates.  Shutting  the  windows 
to  exclude  a  part  of  the  concert,  I  sit  down 
again  to  my  desk,  and  catch  myself  humming 
snatches  of  old  songs  and  marches  as  my  pen 
tracks  the  paper  before  me. 

There  is  a  great  deal  about  music,  modern 
music,  which  puzzles  me.  I  do  not  compre- 
hend it.  The  sublime  "  harmony  of  discords  " 
has  no  meaning  for  me.  When  other  more  for- 
tunate people,  who  have  kept  up  with  the 
times,  applaud  and  encore,  I  shrink  back  into 
the  shade.  I  have  a  curious,  unpleasant  feel- 
ing that  the  lavish  encomiums  are  not  sincere  ; 
and  though  it  would  be  sad  to  lose  faith  in  the 
truthfulness  of  our  associates,  there  is  always  a 
hope  down  in  the  depths  of  the  heart  that  they 
do  like  real  music,  and  find  its  modern  counter- 
feit a  bore.  It  seems  quite  impossible  that  any 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  353 

one  can  be  educated  so  far  away  from  what  is 
natural  as  to  relish  such  artificial  and  aggra- 
vating entertainments,  though  we  see  that  other 
morbid  appetites,  equally  incomprehensible,  are 
common.  Ah,  well !  the  standard  of  music  in 
heaven  was  fixed  long  ago,  before  the  advent 
of  the  late  improvements,  when  "  the  morning 
stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God 
shouted  for  joy."  None  of  these  operatic  em- 
bellishments will  ever  jar  upon  our  ears  in  the 
"  land  of  the  blest,"  whatever  immortality  they 
may  secure  in  the  lower  regions. 

Not  a  great  while  ago  I  was  invited  to  hear 
a  difficult  piece  of  music  performed  on  the 
piano.  The  young  lady  player  had  been  care- 
fully trained  at  great  expense,  and  could  almost, 
it  was  said,  "  do  the  impossible."  As  nothing 
but  kindness  was  intended  in  inviting  me,  I 
could  not  refuse  to  listen  ;  but,  as  a  slight  in- 
demnification, I  stipulated  that  when  the  grand 
action  should  be  over,  I  should  be  indulged 
with  a  favorite  song. 

To  all  the  complicated  tremolas,  turnings, 
and  pedal  crashings  I  listened  patiently,  man- 
aging to  abstract  my  attention  from  them  by 
repeating  to  myself  psalms  and  hymns  and  the 


354  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

multiplication  table  backward,  till  I  was  so  lit- 
tle disturbed  by  the  noise  as  to  be  able  to  carry 
on  a  regular  and  connected  train  of  thought. 

How  long  it  lasted  I  cannot  tell ;  but  all  at 
once,  without  the  least  warning,  the  young  lady 
straightened  herself  stiffly,  threw  back  her  head, 
rolled  up  her  eyes,  and  gave  vent  to  a  succes- 
sion of  the  jnost  dismal  shrieks  that  I  ever 
heard.  I  involuntarily  sprang  to  her  assist- 
ance, not  a  little  surprised  that  no  one  else  ex- 
hibited any  sympathy  for  her,  or  any  disposition 
to  aid  her.  Ah !  what  a  relief  it  was,  in  spite 
of  my  shame  and  the  singer's  vexation,  to  find 
that  what  I  had  mistaken  for  a  fit  was  only 
the  effort  to  oblige  me  by  singing  my  favorite 
song !  And  I,  stupid,  had  not  recognized  a 
note  or  a  word  of  it. 

They  tell  me  that  my  taste  is  at  fault,  that  I 
need  cultivation,  that  no  one  in  a  state  of  na- 
ture likes  the  higher  style  of  music,  etc.  I 
hear  the  thrush  and  the  robin  trilling  their  old 
exquisite  melodies,  and  I  know  that  none  of 
these  popular  false  chords  finds  a  place  in  the 
great  anthem  of  nature. 

How  can  I  look  out  upon  the  sapphire  sea, 
flashing  in  the  golden  light  of  the  sunset,  or 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  355 

raise  my  eyes  to  the  profound  blue  solitudes  of 
the  skies,  or'  reflect  upon  the  infinite  motion 
and  perfect  harmony  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
and  then  deliberately  fill  the  soft  air  with  dis- 
cordant croakings  ? 

An  Italian  street-singer  and  organ-grinder 
came  with  his  wife  and  sang  just  under  my 
window  this  morning.  He  is  a  Genoese,  she 
from  the  island  of  Ischia.  It  was  music,  sim- 
ple but  real  music,  so  I  gladly  ran  down  stairs 
to  thank  and  remunerate  them.  I  could  not 
make  them  understand  me.  They  knew  so  lit- 
tle English,  and  I  so  little  Italian — I  could  only 
recall  one  phrase,  "Felice  notte"  which  they 
seemed  to  resent,  for  they  shouldered  their 
packs  and  were  off  at  once,  instead  of  singing 
more,  as  I  hoped  they  would. 

Down  by  the  railway  I  yesterday  passed  a 
little  tent,  the  temporary  home  of  some  wan- 
dering Indians.  Two  girls  were  singing  over 
their  work,  but  they  stopped  when  they  saw  a 
stranger,  and  no  persuasion  could  induce  them 
to  go  on.  The  little  that  I  heard  made  me 
think  of  the  wind  sighing  in  the  forest,  and 
wailing  down  the  stony  ravines  before  a  storm. 
It  was  wild  and  shrill,  like  the  Shaker  singing. 


356  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Perhaps  the  Shakers  borrowed  their  style  from 
the  Indians.  I  waited  to  look  at  their  deli- 
cately plaited  basket-work.  The  rushes  were 
dyed  with  soft  colors,  and  ingeniously  twisted 
into  a  beautiful  pattern.  But  I  could  get  no 
more  music. 

Hush!  From  the  adjoining  room  comes  to 
me  the  sweet  voice  of  a  little  child  who  is  kneel- 
ing beside  his  mother  and  repeating  the  prayer, 
"  Our  Father,"  which  is  never  old.  As  I  listen 
I  understand,  but  cannot  explain  what  is  meant 
by  true  music — heart  music. 

MATTIE   KANNARY. 

Imagine  a  great,  staring,  red  brick  house, 
without  blinds  to  the  windows,  and  not  a  tree 
or  bush  growing  near  it  for  shade  It  is  the 
Magrath  House,  once  a  hotel,  but  now  the  home 
of  seventeen  Irish  families.  In  a  little  attic 
chamber  of  this  crowded  hive  lives  a  poor  friend 
of  mine,  Mattie  Kannary.  She  is  sixty  years 
old,  and  her  hands  are  so  swollen  with  rheuma- 
tism as  to  be  nearly  useless.  When  I  am  in- 
clined to  murmur  at  God's  providential  dealings 
I  go  for  a  cure  to  old  Mattie's  room. 

She  has  not  a  relative  in  the  world,  unless  a 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  357 

brother,  who  emigrated  to  the  far  West  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  should  still  be  living.  This  is 
scarcely  probable,  for  it  is  sixteen  years  since 
he  has  been  heard  from.  I  have  written  at  odd 
times  half  a  score  of  letters  at  Mattie's  dictation 
in  the  vain  hope  of  getting  some  information 
in  regard  to  him. 

How  Mattie  lives  puzzles  me  often.  She  has 
no  money  and  no  visible  means  of  support,  and 
it  is  now  two  years  since  she  has  been  able 
to  work.  She  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the 
charity  and  kind  offices  of  others  ;  but  she  al- 
ways has  just  enough  for  present  need,  and  is 
never  troubled  about  the  future. 

Every  body  likes  her.  It  is  a  pleasure,  after 
traversing  the  long,  dirty  halls  and  taking  in  all 
the  odious  sights,  and  smells,  and  noises  of  the 
great  house,  to  come  to  her  neat,  quiet  room 
and  sit  down  by  the  little  window,  which  is  high 
enough  to  secure  fresh  air.  It  is  like  getting 
into  a  new  world,  the  contrast  is  so  great. 

In  the  winter-time  I  like  to  sit  down  cozily 
by  the  old-fashioned  stove  and  talk  with  Mattie. 
The  real  desolation  of  her  lot  does  me  good, 
because  she  is  so  unconscious  of  it,  so  hopeful, 
and  so  thoroughly  contented.  It  puts  me  in 


358  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

good  humor  with  all  the  world — the  heartless, 
deceitful  world,  which  puts  on  an  honest,  well- 
meaning  look  when  seen  from  her  stand-point. 

It  was  the  last  evening  of  the  old  year  when 
she  told  me  her  simple  life  history.  I  had  been 
repeating  aloud,  though  it  was  for  my  own  edi- 
fication rather  than  hers,  some  lines  which  had 
haunted  me  all  day. 

"  Old  year,  you  must  not  go  ; 

So  long  as  you  have  been  with  us, 
Such  joy  as  you  have  seen  with  us, 
Old  year,  you  shall  not  go. 

"  Old  year,  you  shall  not  die  ; 

We  did  so  laugh  and  cry  with  you, 
I've  half  a  mind  to  die  with  you, 
Old  year,  if  you  must  die." 

"Ah,  shure,  that  is  the  fine  poetry,  ma'am," 
said  Mattie,  who  had  listeried  admiringly  to 
my  recitation.  "  Perhaps  it's  a  bit  o'  yer  own 
makin?" 

"  O,  no  ;  I  couldn't  write  any  thing  half  so 
sweet  to  save  my  life.  It  was  written  by  Ten- 
nyson, a  poet  who  belongs  to  your  side  of  the 
water." 

"An  Irishman  ?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"No;  I  suppose  he  is  English.  But  such 
poets  belong  to  the  world,  Mattie." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  359 

Mattie's  interest  subsided  at  once.  She  does 
not  like  the  English,  and  has  little  reverence 
for  English  genius. 

.  "Tell  me  about  yourself,  Mattie,"  I  said. 
"  I  want  to  forget  the  old  year  and  all  its 
memories." 

"  It's  little  I  can  tell  yees,  ma'am.  It's  a 
lowly  road  I've  thraveled  all  me  days,  whether 
in  America  or  in  me  own  land  over  the  sea, 
it  were  the  same  ivery-where  ;  niver  far  oop, 
though  often  well-to-do,  and  niver  forsaken,  as 
ye  see  for  yerself." 

"  Tell  me  all  you  can  remember,  Mattie.  I 
shall  be  interested,  I  know." 

"  Ye'll  think  betther  o'  it,  shure,  before  I  get 
far  in  me  story,  but  I  can  stop  whin  ye  likes ; 
only  yees  will  promise  not  to  let  me  rin  on  an 
ye' re  weary." 

"  Yes,  I  promise." 

"  I  don't  remimber  whin  I  was  born,"  began 
Mattie,  soberly,  "  but  it  was  in  the  city  of  Dub- 
liru  We  moved  into  the  counthree  whin  I  was 
a  wake  old,  and  I  have  no  idea  o'  the  place  to 
give  you,  for  I  was  niver  within  forty  miles  o' 
it  afterward,  and  I  was  over  young  to  fix  it 
in  me  mind  then.  My  father  was  bred  in  the 


360  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

counthree,  and  the  open  fields  and  bit  cabins 
were  one  and  all  like  home  to  him  ;  but  me 
mother  were  city  born,  and  she  were,  like  a  bird 
trapped  after  it  is  grown,  too  old  to  be  tamed? 
She  niver  got  used  to  the  new  life,  but  jist  sat 
down  and  fretted  all  the  rest  o'  her  days. 

"  She  had  six  children  beside  meself,  all  boys. 
They  are  all  dead  togither,  barrin'  Phelan  at 
the  West,  and  there's  small  trust  in  him  now. 
One  by  one  the  lads  dropped  off  till  half  o'  the 
six  were  gone,  and  thin,  whin  I  were  just  turned 
o'  twelve,  me  mother  died.  In  less  than  a  year 
me  father  was  laid  by  her  side,  and  all  the 
money  he  left  was  spent  in  holy  masses  for 
them  all. 

"  It  were  a  lucky  chance  or  a  providence," 
said  Mattie,  "  that  the  boys  were  mostly 
gone  before  their  father,  for  it  was  as  much, 
and  more  too,  as  Ted  and  Phil  could  do  to 
kape  themselves  till  the  next  Christmas,  when 
Teddy  died  o'  the  fever  and  left  us  two  by 
ourselves." 

"  How  old  was  Phelan  ? " 

"  Nearly  fifteen  years,  ma'am,  but  looking  all 
of  five  years  oulder.  A  great,  stout  laddie,  wi' 
the  beard  already  coom  to  his  lips  and  cheek." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  361 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  Had  you  no  relatives 
or  friends  to  care  for  you  ?" 

"  We  had  no  relatives  ;  leastways  none  came 
near  us,  which  is  the  same  thing.  But  we  had 
friends  on  all  sides.  Too  many,  for  aich  o'  the 
lot  were  hill  o'  kind  counsels,  but  no  two  o' 
them  had  the  same  opinion.  We  couldn't  heed 
all,  so  we  jist  took  counsel  wi'  aich  other.  We 
did  what  we  thought  was  best ;  we  jist  broke 
oop  the  ould  home  and  wint  out  to  service. 
Patsey  M'Shale,  who  lived  near  the  town,  took 
me  at  first  to  rin  o'  errands  and  mind  the  baby, 
and  it  was  there  I  learned  the  nice  laundry 
work  which  has  been  me  thrade  iver  since. 
She  was  a  frind  indade,  ma'am." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  a  true  friend,  for  she 
made  you  independent  and  self-reliant." 

"Whin  I  knew  the  business  well,"  Mattie 
continued,  "  she  got  me  a  place  near  Limerick 
in  a  nobleman's  house.  I  thought  me  fortune 
was  made,  shure.  The  young  leddies  were  not 
afraid  to  put  the  most  delicate  work  into  me 
hands.  Arrah,  if  ye  could  but  have  seen  the 
illigant  laces  and  muslins,  and  the  fine,  rich 
work  on  them  all !  It  was  a  pleasure  to  do  it. 
It  were  against  nature  to  help  loving  my  young 


362  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

misthresses.  I  cannot  describe  them  for  yees  ; 
there's  nothing  in  America  to  compare  wi' 
them,  the  swate-spoken  beauties  !  There  were 
three  of  them,  and  aich  handsomer  than  the 
others.  One  of  them  is  a  countess,  and  the 
others  married  into  the  proud  English  families 
who  used  to  spind  a  part  of  aich  year  at  the 
Hall.  I  had  lived  there  three  years,"  said 
Mattie,  lowering  her  voice  almost  to  a  whis- 
per, "  whin  I  had  a  lover  meself.  It  may  seem 
a  small  matther  to  you,  ma'am,  but  that  is  the 
time  of  all  me  life  which  kapes  its  coolers 
aye  brightest.  I  sit  here  alone  of  a  winter's 
evening  and  live  it  over  and  over  again,  an 
niver  am  tired  o'  the  thinkin'  and  remimberin'. 
I  shut  me  eyes,  and  there  he  sits.  We  are 
back  again  in  the  wide  kitchen,  an  I  hear  his 
pleasant  voice  a-joking  wi'  the  cook  and  the 
housemaid,  and,  though  he  says  but  little  to  me 
or  I  to  him,  I  catch  the  sly,  lovin'  smiles  and 
glints  o'  the  eye.  There  were  niver  such  eyes 
before.  Bright  as  the  very  stars,  and  honest  as 
well,  and  shinin'  wi'  sinse  an  good-humor,  the 
fine  laddie !  An  ye'll  bring  me  that  little  tin 
box  from  the  shelf  yon  I'll  show  ye  a  bit  o'  his 
hair." 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  363 

I  brought  the  box,  and  tried  to  open  it  for 
her ;  but  she  was  not  willing  that  any  hands 
but  her  own  should  touch  the  contents,  so  I  laid 
it  in  her  lap  after  springing  the  lock. 

"  There !  " 

She  held  up  a  thick  curl  of  bright,  brownish- 
red  hair.  It  shook  in  her  trembling  fingers, 
and  changed  its  hue  in  the  light  of  the  near 
candle  till  it  seemed  to  me,  as  well  as  to  Mattie, 
like  a  living  presence. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  very  beautiful,"  I  replied  to  her 
look  of  inquiry. 

"  Yes,  ye  may  weel  say  that.  I've  seen  many 
a  fine  head  o'  hair  since  then,"  said  Mattie,  re- 
placing the  curl  in  the  box,  "but  nothin'  like 
that,  nothin'  like  that.  Forty  years  ago !  Me 
own  hair  was  bright  thin." 

"  Forty  years  is  a  long  time  to  look  back 
upon." 

"  Is  it  ?  It  seems  like  a  drame.  I  was  just 
twenty  whin  he  left  me  to  make  a  home  for  us 
both  in  America.  Ochone !  the  dark  day  it 
was !  But  not  so  dark  as  it  would  have  been 
had  I  known  thin  that  I  was  niver  to  look  on 
him  more." 

"O   Mattie!     Then  you  did  not  marry  him, 
24 


364  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

after  all.  Poor  Mattie ! "  I  said  pityingly,  for 
the  slow,  scant  tears  of  age  and  spent  sorrow 
were  coursing  down  her  cheek. 

"  He  had  been  gone  a  year,"  she  went  on 
presently,  "  whin  me  masther  one  day  brought 
me  a  letther.  It  begged  me  to  coom  to  Amer- 
ica at  once,  where  was  a  nice,  comfortable 
home  all  in  waitin'  for  me.  The  money  for 
the  passage  over  was  in  it,  and  enough  to  pay 
for  me  brother  Phil  too,  for  he  could  not  bear 
me  to  journey  alone,  and  he  could  not  lave  to 
fetch  me  himself. 

"  In  a  little  time  we  were  on  the  sea,  and  I 
counted  ivery  day  that  brought  me  nearer  to 
him.  Arrah,  the  hiven  that  New  York  looked 
in  the  distance !  Me  home  was  there — the 
home  o'  me  heart.  Whin  we  reached  the  long 
wharf,  and  came  to  a  stop  at  last,  there  was  no 
one  to  meet  us.  Me  heart  begun  to  sink  ;  but  I 
would  not  borrow  trouble.  '  It's  all  right,  Phil/ 
I  said,  '  the  fair  winds  have  brought  us  before 
the  time.' 

"  I  knew  betther,  and  so  did  Phil,  for  we  were 
days  behind  time  wi'  the  conthrary  winds.  I 
would  not  wait  on  board  for  Phil  to  look  him 
up.  '  No,'  I  said,  '  we'll  go  together.' 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  365 

"  It  were  asy  to  find  where  he  had  been  liv- 
in' ;  but  whin  we  asked  for  himself,  no  one 
would  answer  at  all.  It  were  a  kind  of  office, 
and  there  were  three  or  four  gentlemen  wait- 
ing, an  they  looked  first  at  us  and  thin  at 
aich  other ;  but  no  one  spake.  At  last  one  of 
them  came  and  sat  down  by  me,  and  took  me 
by  the  hand.  No  need  to  tell  me  then. 

" '  He  was  expecting  you/  he  said. 

"  '  Yes,  I  know.' 

" '  His  place  is  left  all  furnished  for  you.' 

" '  Yes.'  The  room  began  to  look  dark,  but 
I  held  on  to  his  hand. 

" '  He  took  the  fever  a  fortnight — .  Jim, 
bring  a  glass  of  wine ! '  he  called  out  to  a  lad 
near  us.  He  made  me  drink  the  wine,  and 
then  he  said,  '  He  was  buried  yesterday.  We 
tried  hard  to  save  him,  but  care  and  skill  could 
not  keep  him.  You  were  never  out  of  his 
mind.  His  last  words  were,  "  Mattie,  darling." 
There,  don't  be  ashamed  to  cry  ;  it  will  do  you 
i^ood,'  said  the  kind  gentleman.  He  was  cry- 
in'  himself,  and  Phil  took  me  in  his  arms  and 
sobbed  like  a  child." 

Mattie  could  not  control  her  voice  to  go  on 
with  her  story.  It  was  a  new  revelation  of  her 


366  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

^character  to  me.  I  understood  now  what  had 
made  it  easy  for  her  to  accept  her  lot  of  obscure 
poverty.  She  looked  at  it  in  contrast  with  this 
life-sorrow. 

"  I  canna  tell  yees,"  said  Mattie  at  last,  "  what 
a  sad  cooming  home  it  was.  There  was  the  new 
furniture,  and  all  sorts  o'  odd  little  contrevances 
for  convanience,  and  even  his  own  new  clothes 
laid  ready  for  the  weddin'  that  was  niver  to 
coom  on  earth.  But  he,  the  charm  o'  it  all,  was 
gone  foriver.  Forty  years  ago  the  thirteenth  o' 
June ! " 

"  Did  you  stay  there,  Mattie  ? " 

"  Nigh  on  to  four  years.  Then  Phil  got  mar- 
ried, and  went  to  the  West.  I  would  not  go  wi' 
him,  though  he  begged  me  wi'  tears.  '  No,  no, 
Phil,  don't  ask  me,'  I  said  ;  '  I  canna  lave  his 
grave.  Let  me  stay  where  he  is  sleepin.'  So 
I  was  left  by  meself.  But  I  could  not  live 
alone.  I  gave  up  the  house,  and  went  to  live  as 
a  laundress  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Lincoln.  He 
was  the  gentleman  who  was  so  kind  whin  me 
throuble  came. 

"  I  stayed  there  five  years.  Then  the  family 
went  South  to  live,  to  Mississippi,  where  Mrs. 
Lincoln  belonged.  She  had  a  plantation  there. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  367 

I  could  not  go  wi'  them,"  said  Mattie,  proudly, 
"  to  be  a  white  slave  among  niggers.  It's  plinty 
irksome  to  serve  wi'  your  own  color  and  nation, 
the  low  Irish  in  particular;  but  I  canna  bide 
niggers  at  any  price.  So  I  stayed  in  New  York, 
rented  a  room,  and  kept  entirely  to  meself  for  a 
time." 

"Well,  Mattie?" 

A  light  broke  over  her  face  as  she  laughed 
merrily.  All  this  time  there  had  been  scarcely 
a  trace  of  the  Irish  brogue,  or  the  national  pecuU 
iarities  of  expression  ;  but  she  seemed  to  change 
all  over  as  she  looked  up  to  answer  me. 

"  What  happened  next,  Mattie  ? " 

"  Och,  ma'am,  it  were  a  fool's  deed  next,  for 
shure.  There  was  Pathrick  Kannary,  the  big, 
lumpy,  freckled  gossoon,  wi'  niver  a  house  to  his 
head,  or  a  penny  in  his  purse,  wi'  no  stock  on 
airth  barrin'  laziness  an  good  temper ;  wi'  his 
pipe  niver  out  o'  his  mouth  save  whin  atin'  or 
dhrinkin'.  He  came  to  me  room  on  a  Sunday 
afther  the  mass,  an'  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
Arrah,  the  impidence  of  the  crathur  ! " 

"  But  you  didn't,  surely,"  I  said,  quite  un- 
able to  connect  such  want  of  forethought  with 
Mattie. 


368  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  Ay,  but  I  did,  thin.  Isn't  me  name  Kan- 
nary  ?  It  were  the  big  folly  o'  me  life,  shure  ; 
but  I  did  it  all  the  same.  Ye  will  mind  as  I  was 
all  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  lonesome  that  I 
could  ha'  worshiped  a  dummy  an  it  had  thruly 
cared  for  me.  I  was  a  woman,  an  ye  need  not 
be  tould  what  a  woman's  life  is  without  some'at 
to  cling  to.  Anythin'  were  better  than  that 
yearnin',  afther  a  fellow-feeling,  that  cravin'  for 
somethin'  for  the  heart  to  coom  home  to.  So  I 
married  Pathrick  Kannary." 

"  Did  he  work  for  you,  Mattie  ? "  I  asked, 
rather  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  I  worked  for  him.  I  didn't 
mind  it.  I  was  strong,  and  used  to  the  toilin' 
an  managin',  an  it  was  asy  enow  to  kape  all 
snoog  and  above  board.  It'll  seem  strange  to 
you,  ma'am,  but,  indade,  I  were  happier  now 
than  I  had  been  for  long  years.  I  had  an  ob- 
ject to  live  for,  an  it  brought  me  contint  at  laste. 
Me  lot  was  o'  me  own  makin',  were  it  betther 
or  worse,  and  there  were  little  sinse  in  fret  tin'." 

"And  Patrick?" 

"  O,  thin,  Pathrick  were  like  a  gintleman  born. 
He  gave  up  both  worruk  and  care,  and  was  the 
invy  o'  all  his  comrades.  The  world  wint  fair 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          369 

and  smooth  wi'  him,  wi'  niver  a  hitch  in  the 
machinery.  Ye  may  take  me  word,  ma'am,  that 
he  niver  repinted  his  bargin." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  I  responded,  not  relish- 
ing the  sacrifice  of  a  woman  like  Mattie  upon 
the  altar  of  masculine  selfishness.  "  Did  you 
love  him  ?  "  I  asked  presently. 

"  Love  him  !  Ochone  !  Niver.  How  can  ye 
ask  that  ?  Me  heart  was  in  the  grave  wi'  me 
ain  laddie.  That  were  the  thrue  marriage  be- 
fore God ;  this  was  jist  a  matther  of  convani- 
ence.  Don't  you  see  ? " 

"  Then   you    don't    believe    in   second   mar- 


riages 


"  Not  whin  the  heart  finds  its  mate  in  the 
first.  There's  mony  a  weddin'  o'  souls  that 
niver  is  known  on  earth,  an  they  are  the  thrue 
marriages  accordin'  to  my  thinkin' ;  but  thou- 
sands and  thousands  are  livin'  to-day  like 
Pathrick  and  me  did,  married  by  the  laws  o' 
the  land,  but  niver  mated  in  hiven.  The  thrue 
love  cooms  but  once,  shure." 

"  How  long  did  Patrick  live  ?  " 

"  I  canna  say.  He's  livin'  yet,  for  all  I 
know.  It  was  Catherine  Murphy,  an  a  rale 
beauty  she  was,  an  a  bould  girl  as  well,  that 


370  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

come  between  us.  Ye'll  mind  that  Pat,  like 
mony  anither,  liked  to  brag  o'  his  riches. 
Nothin'  could  bate  his  big  notions,  an  he 
aired  them  ivery-where.  And  Kate  Murphy 
belaved  it  were  all  Scripture.  Thin  she  were 
taken  with  his  perliteness  and  his  fine  clothes, 
so  she  kept  hangin'  aboot  the  place  till  she 
wiled  him  away.  She  was  soon  tired  o'  him,  for 
the  money  gave  out,  an  she  would  not  worruk 
for  herself,  lettin'  alone  workin'  for  him.  So  he 
came  back  to  me." 

"  Mattie,  you  did  not  take  him  again  ! "  I 
remonstrated. 

"  No,"  said  Mattie,  slowly.  "  I'm  not  clare 
now  whether  it  were  my  duty  ;  but  I  tould 
him  plainly  that  it  were  all  over.  I  used  to 
see  him  on  the  street,  looking  shabby  and 
miserable  enough,  and  twice  he  was  bastely 
drunk.  He  was  poor  enough  to  have  roused 
me  pity  for  him  ;  but  I  knew  he  could  work, 
an  I  niver  took  him  home.  You  see  the  love 
in  me  heart  was  wantin',  and  that  made  all  the 
difference  in  the  world." 

"  What  did  you  do  next  ?     Live  alone  ? " 

"  Well,  I  got  me  fine  character  as  a  laundress 
from  some  o'  the  first  citv  ladies,  and  thin  I 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  371 

sold  out  me  furniture  and  came  here.  I  always 
prospered.  I  expected  to.  Paple  build  oop 
their  own  hinderances,  I  take  it.  I  was  coom- 
fortable  till  me  hands  give  out,  but  they're 
gettin'  well  again,  ma'am." 

This  was  a  standing  fiction  which  Mattie 
had  persisted  in  believing  from  the  commence- 
ment of  her  illness,  and  no  one  disputed  the 
point  with  her. 

"  I'll  soon  be  able  to  look  out  for  meself," 
said  Mattie,  brightly.  "  God  knows  what  is 
best.  I'm  contint  to  lave  it  wi'  him.  At  the 
worst,  it  is  only  the  almshouse,  an  that  is  fine 
Jivin'  in  America." 

"  We  shall  not  let  you  try  it,"  I  said. 

Mattie  laughed  cheerfully.  "  It  were  sinful 
to  fret  about  it,  ma'am.  So  as  the  good  God 
has  kept  me  all  my  days  I'll  not  doubt  him 
now.  He'll  lead  me  gently  down  the  few 
more  steps  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  I'm 
rontint." 

I  am  afraid  I  envied  Mattie.  The  little  close 
room,  the  scanty  furniture,  the  lack  of  future 
provision,  the  painful,  swollen  hands,  the  deso- 
late old  age,  were  all  glorified  by  her  simple 
trust  in  God. 


372  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

1  had  left  her  and  blundered  my  way  down 
to  the  ground  floor,  when  a  door  suddenly 
opened  and  I  saw  "  big  Kathleen,"  the  largest 
and  strongest  Irishwoman  that  I  ever  saw,  in 
the  act  of  disciplining  her  husband,  who  had 
come  home  drunk.  I  saluted  her,  but  she  was 
too  angry  to  respond  to  my  greeting. 

"I'll  tache  yees,  ye  ould  hound,  to  coom 
home  like  a  baste  to  yer  supper." 

Kathleen  shook  him  up  and  down  as  if  he 
were  scarcely  a  feather's  weight  in  her  hands. 

"It's  a  faste  ye'll  be  losin',  alannah." 

He  was  just  drunk  enough  to  be  contrary, 
so  he  staggered  to  the  table  and  began  to  help 
himself  in  spite  of  her.  I  glanced  at  the 
"  faste."  There  were  boiled  potatoes  mashed 
with  their  jackets  on  and  saturated  with  sour 
milk.  But  the  offending  husband  was  not  des- 
tined to  partake  of  it,  for  "big  Kathleen," 
irritated  beyond  endurance  by  his  unexpected 
opposition,  seized  him  by  his  coat  collar  and 
the  waistband  of  his  trowsers  and  actually 
pitched  him  head  foremost  over  the  stairs  into 
the  open  yard  below.  He  was  not  hurt — Irish- 
men seldom  are — though  the  fall  partially 
sobered  him. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  373 

Try  it  again,  Mike,"  called  his  wife  from 
above.  "  Coom,  lad,  there's  plinty  more,  an  ye 
like  it.  It's  free  as  hiven's  brazes  for  yees." 

Mike  showed  no  disposition  to  avail  himself 
of  the  offered  provision,  but  sat  on  the  ground 
stupidly  staring  about  him.  A  number  of 
people  were  grouped  upon  the  lower  landing, 
attracted  by  the  noise,  and  Kathleen's  prow- 
ess was  applauded  uproariously.  I  was  glad 
to  get  out  into  the  quiet  street  and  hasten 
homeward. 

THE    OLD    BROWN    HOUSE. 

A  glance  along  the  hill-sides  and  down  the 
valleys  reveals  to  us,  scattered  here  and  there, 
the  yet  lingering  dwellings  of  the  old  inhabit- 
ants. Over  them  all,  to  my  eye,  lies  a  heavy 
shadow.  They  are  not  desolate,  but  more 
crowded  than  of  old,  with  every  room  full  of 
noisy  life,  yet  they  belong  to  my  past,  and  the 
careless  tread  and  boisterous  laugh  seem  like 
desecration.  Those  who  were  born  and  grew 
up  beneath  the  roof-tree  are  all  gone,  and 
strangers  sit  down  under  the  shade  of  the  old 
trees  without  a  thought  of  the  hands  which  so 
long  ago  planted  them. 


374  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Some  of  these  old  houses  are  scarcely  habit- 
able, others  are  better  preserved,  though  the 
missing  window-panes  or  the  puttied  cracks  of 
the  glass  that  remains  foreshadow  the  coming 
ruin. 

There  is  no  tenant  in  the  old  brown  house 
where  my  grandfather  lived  and  died,  where  his 
children  were  reared,  and  where  his  noisy 
grandchildren  came  with  their  sports  and 
schemes,  sure  of  loving  encouragement  in  them 
all.  Old  age  has  a  closer  sympathy  with  child- 
hood than  with  mature  life.  It  has  patience 
with  its  capricious  foibles,  an  interest  in  its 
most  unreasonable  gratifications.  Every  child 
understands  this  if  he  is  not  so  poor  as  to  have 
no  grandparents.  The  mere  babe  will  tottle  by 
its  mother  to  its  grandmamma's  arms,  as  if  it 
has  a  wish  to  express  of  questionable  utility. 
The  mother  who  disciplined  her  own  children 
perfectly  is  blind  to  the  grandchild's  dimpled 
hand  which  ravages  her  sugar-bowl.  And  so  it 
generally  is  true  that  there  is  no  place  so  invit- 
ing, so  every  way  attractive  to  the  young,  as  the 
old-fashioned  homes  of  their  grandparents. 

I  am  glad  that  my  grandfather's  old  house  is 
uninhabited.  I  can  go  over  it  and  recall  the 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          375 

• 

past  without  observation.  The  somber,  ancient 
furniture  has  been  removed,  but  I  know  where 
the  high-backed  chairs  and  long  tables  used  to 
stand  against  the  wall,  and  just  how  the  round 
light-stand,  with  its  three  carved  legs  and  its 
furnishing  of  Bible,  Psalm-book,  almanac,  news- 
paper, and  spectacles,  filled  up  the  warm  corner 
by  the  south  window. 

The  window-seats,  so  deep  and  large  that 
half  a  dozen  flaxen-headed  urchins  used  to 
crowd  into  one  for  an  evening  hour's  story- 
telling or  riddle-guessing,  are  as  pleasant  as 
ever.  Childhood  comes  back,  all  the  eventful 
intervening  years  vanish  at  once  as  we  sit  down 
in  the  familiar  place.  Ah,  why  did  those  dear, 
cozy  window-seats  go  out  of  fashion  ?  There 
has  been  no  substitute  for  them  furnished  by 
modern  improvements. 

Children  are  now  cheated  out  of  half  the 
pleasures  which  legitimately  belong  to  early 
life.  What  they  are  going  to  do  for  childish 
memories  when  they  come  to  middle  life  no  one 
pretends  to  say.  It  will  be  dreary  to  look  back 
upon  a  silent,  barren  wilderness  where  there 
should  have  been  fresh,  immortal  flowers,  and 
glad,  spontaneous  music. 


376          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Croaking  is  but  a  poor  business  at  best.  It 
does  not  pay  even  when  it  deals  in  truth  ;  but, 
sitting  in  this  dear  old  house,  the  mind  and 
heart  too  will  go  back  to  the  days  when  chil- 
dren were  possible,  before  miniature  men  and 
women  in  the  nursery  were  thought  desirable, 
when  the  occasional  bold  utterances  of  a  pre- 
cocious youngster  were  overlooked  as  harmless 
impertinences  instead  of  being  printed. 

The  maturity  of  modern  babies  would  have 
been  thought  a  decided  inconvenience  by  those 
who  believed  with  King  Solomon  in  the  occa- 
sional application  of  the  rod.  We  can  imagine 
the  picture  of  insulted  dignity  and  outraged 
honor  which  a  three-year-old  urchin  would  now 
present  if  corporeal  punishment  were  offered  to 
him  ever  so  delicately. 

It  was  different  then.  The  romps,  and  plays, 
and  roguish  tricks  of  youth  were  wholesomely 
flavored  by  discipline,  and  the  grateful  tingling 
remembrance  of  its  efficacy  in  restoring  good 
temper  is  not  the  least  precious  of  our  memo- 
ries. We  escaped  a  world  of  trouble  by  being 
born  before  the  restraints  of  embroidery  and 
ruffling,  or  the  wearing  of  long  hair  in  hot, 
twisted  divisions,  so  as  to  imitate  natural  ring- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          377 

lets,  were  tolerated.  Is  it  not  a  pitiful  sight 
to  behold  a  well-disposed  child,  that  would  be 
natural  if  it  could,  obliged  all  through  the  dog- 
days  to  sport  those  uncomfortable,  meager 
proxies  for  curls  without  an  idea  of  why  it 
suffers  ? 

O  the  sweet,  glad  freedom  of  old-fashioned 
childhood  !  It  is  worth  living  over.  It  went 
out  with  the  old  window-seats.  No  one  knows 
the  name  of  the  bold  reformer  who  first  at- 
tempted to  improve  upon  the  beautiful  arrange- 
ment of  the  Almighty  so  as  to  omit  childhood 
from  human  life,  but  he  was  not  a  benefactor  to 
his  race. 

There  are  strange  things  always  coming  to 
pass.  Most  wonderful  is  the  progress  of  the 
times.  But  to  one  whose  tired  feet  halt  in 
the  rear,  whose  weary  eyes  delight  in  familiar 
scenes,  whose  aching  heart  hoards  its  beautiful 
memories  as  golden  treasures,  the  strange  acts 
and  wise  plans  of  faster  people  often  seem  such 
prodigious  freaks. 

Diamonds  cannot  buy  the  fair  pictures  which 
grace  for  me  every  room  of  the  old  house,  or 
purchase  my  childish  right  in  the  circuitous, 
dark  stairway,  and  the  thick  cobwebs,  full  of 


3/8  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

dead  flies,  which  curtain  the  garret  windows. 
The  doors  of  the  quaint  little  cupboards  stand 
half  open.  The  dainty  china  cups  and  saucers, 
small  enough  for  a  play-house  now,  and  the 
bright  teapot  and  silver  spoons,  are  all  removed, 
but  in  my  mind  I  range  them  upon  the  narrow 
shelves  in  the  old  order  and  overlook  the  empty 
space. 

There  is  no  portrait  of  my  grandfather  as  I 
remember  him.  He  was  eighty-four  years  old 
when  he  died,  but  his  teeth  were  white  and 
even,  and  his  black  hair  flowed  over  his  neck 
like  a  girl's.  I  used  to  think  he  was  the  hand- 
somest old  man  in  the  world.  Well  he  might 
be,  for  personal  beauty  has  found  no  place 
among  his  descendants,  and  there  is  less  and 
less  prospect  of  it  as  the  generations  succeed 
each  other. 

All  the  children  in  the  region  knew  and 
loved  the  fine  old  man.  He  was  never  happier 
than  when  surrounded  by  a  noisy  group  of 
them,  each  good-humoredly  contending  for  the 
privilege  of  ransacking  his  capacious  pockets 
and  bringing  to  light  the  rosy-cheeked  apples 
and  stray  pennies  which  were  always  stored 
there  for  the  encouragement  of  those  young 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  379 

pickpockets.  In  the  summer  evenings  he  would 
sit  in  his  great  arm-chair  by  the  open  door, 
and  watch  our  frolics  upon  the  green  grass  or 
our  tumbles  among  the  new-made  hay.  At  a 
little  distance  was  the  family  tomb.  A  pleas- 
ant, quiet  spot  to  rest  in,"  the  old  man  said. 
He  is  sleeping  there  now,  and  I,  sitting  in  the 
old  door-way,  repeat  the  words  heartily  which 
sounded  so  gloomy  and  strange  then.  Yes, 
"  a  pleasant,  quiet  spot  to  rest  in."  It  is  easy  to 
understand  now  how  one  who  is  tired  of  the 
battle  of  life  may  hopefully  anticipate  its  close 
while  cheerfully  enduring  its  crosses. 

As  I  dreamily  note  the  unaltered  features  in 
the  prospect,  what  figure  is  it  that  comes  flit- 
ting out  of  the  past  and  trips  softly  up  the 
sloping  path  by  the  old  well-curb  ? — delicate 
in  form,  graceful  in  motion,  fragile  as  a  reed  in 
appearance  till  you  behold  the  might  of  un- 
selfish love  which  brightens  her  face,  beautiful 
with  the  immortal  grace  of  spiritual  loveliness, 
never  growing  older,  but  cherishing  as  a  sacred 
trust  from  God  the  freshness  and  sympathy 
of  the  heart.  It  is  my  mother.  It  is  six  years 
since  she  left  us,  since  she  was  born  to  eternal 
life  in  the  home  of  the  angels.  A  solitary 
25 


380  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

whip  poor-will  comes  and  sings  on  the  flat  rock 
close  by.  Not  the  real  bird,  who  used  to  sad- 
den us  with  its  monotone,  but  a  bird  from  Jhe 
shadowy  land  where  the  past  is  garnered.  A 
kitten  playfully  mounts  to  the  top  of  the  long 
well-sweep ;  a  host  of  dead  old  tabbies  come 
trooping  back  to  displace  her.  A  black  cow 
pauses  to  crop  the  rank  grass  by  the  gate. 
She  is  no  relation  to  the  old  black  cow  who 
used  to  chase  us  down  the  long  lane  to  the 
distant  pasture.  That  cross  old  cow!  She 
managed  to  make  a  mark  in  the  old  world  so  as 
to  secure  a  remembrance.  Her  docile  compeers 
are  forgotten.  No  one  can  tell  whether  they 
gave  good  milk  or  poor,  or  even  whether  a 
post-mortem  examination  pronounced  their 
beef  eatable ;  but  that  crabbed,  selfish,  diso- 
bliging old  black  cow,  with  every  variety  of 
hooking  and  kicking  powers  fully  developed, 
gave  the  richest  of  milk  in  bountiful  profusion, 
and  furnished  the  dairy's  pride  of  golden 
butter. 

O  for  some  spell  to  put  on  the  old  brown 
house  and  its  surroundings — some  power  to 
hinder  their  certain  decay !  There  is  moss  on 
the  roof  and  on  the  lilac-trees,  and  the  un- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.        381 

trained  roses  are  dying  out  by  the  door.  The 
swallows  build  their  nests  and  rear  their  young 
in  the  wide  chimney  as  of  old,  and  as  I  sit 
down  on  the  dark-red  settle  by  the  hearth  and 
listen  to  their  homely  chirping,  the  old  home 
place  is  no  longer  empty.  Every  room  is 
thronged.  The  faces  so  tenderly  loved  smile 
on  me  again  ;  the  hushed  voices  of  the  buried 
years  are  no  longer  silent. 

From  the  window  I  glanee  down  the  wide 
meadow-land.  Beyond  is  the  wood — rich  groves 
of  pine,  and  maple,  and  ash,  full  of  labyrinthine 
paths,  and  gray  rocks,  and  bright  openings. 
Across  the  meadow  gurgles  a  cool  spring  of 
clear  water.  I  have  lived  to  know  that  the 
green  stones  at  the  bottom  are  not  emeralds. 
There  is  nothing  striking  in  the  view.  Taken 
as  a  whole,  it  would  be  a  tame  landscape  to 
the  indifferent  eye,  but  it  is  holy  ground  to  me, 
changed  as  much  of  it  is. 

It  is  pleasant  to  look  upward,  where  there  is 
no  change.  The  blue  skies  do  not  grow  old. 
and  the  stars  are  as  bright  to  us  as  they  were 
to  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise.  The  sun  and 
moon  pursue  their  steady  course  across  the 
heavens  just  as  they  did  then.  The  various 


382  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

convulsions  of  nature  and  the  art  of  man  have 
united  to  change  the  configuration  of  the  earth, 
but  the  heavens  remain,  and  to  all  generations 
declare  the  glory  of  God  and  show  forth  his 
handiwork. 

WITCHES. 

Like  every  other  part  of  New  England,  our 
"  lake  region "  has  its  historic  ghosts  and 
legends  of  veritable  witches.  The  latter  mar- 
vels have  not  yet  wholly  leaped  into  the  past, 
though  witchcraft  must  have  either  gone  out 
of  fashion  or  changed  its  aspect  in  most  places. 
There  are  persons  yet  living  along  the  outskirts 
of  modern  society  who  have  had  enough  trouble 
with  the  old-time  witches  to  satisfy  a  regiment 
of  unbelievers. 

Over  by  Hurlbut's  Hollow,  just  beyond  that 
gigantic  black  rock  which  poises  itself  over  the 
road  and  threatens  destruction  to  the  traveler, 
is  an  old  farm-house  which  seems  to  have  been 
a  favorite  theater  for  witch  operations.  It 
stands  back  from  the  road  in  a  narrow  green 
dell,  through  which  runs  a  small  spring  of  clear 
water,  O,  so  deliciously  cool  in  the  sultry  sum- 
mer days !  Every  youngster  who  goes  huckle- 
berrying  in  August  in  the  pastures  beyond 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  383 

knows  the  way  to  that  spring,  and  knows,  too,  the 
kindly  old  lady  who  sallies  forth  from  the  house 
with  a  pitcher  of  molasses  to  sweeten  the  limpid 
beverage  and  "  keep  it  from  hurting  the  chil- 
dren." There  are  very  few  boys  and  girls  who 
do  not  relish  the  improved  beverage. 

This  old  lady  can  tell  us  about  the  witches 
if  any  body  can.  She  early  learned  to  meas- 
ure her  cunning  with  theirs,  and  also  the  best 
way  to  manage  those  who  could  not  be  got  rid 
of.  She  has  had  her  hands  "  about  full  of  busi- 
ness "  a  good  many  times,  but,  like  a  true 
warrior,  she  likes  to  fight  her  battles  over 
again.  She  attributes  her  unvarying  successes 
in  dealing  with  witches  to  her  courage.  She 
is  still  a  fearless-looking  person,  and  might  be 
taken  for  a  witch  herself  if  we  did  not  know 
better.  Let  me  describe  her  :  A  little  dried- 
up,  wiry  old  woman,  as  spry  as  a  girl,  though 
she  must  be  very  old.  I  think  she  cannot 
weigh  more  than  eighty  pounds.  Her  short, 
scant  skirt  and  blue  sack  cling  closely  to  her 
petite  figure,  and  make  her  look  much  smaller 
than  she  would  if  she  were  dressed  like  other 
old  women.  Her  hair  is  gray,  and  she  wears 
over  it  a  high-crowned,  wide-bordered  muslin 


384  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region, 

cap,  starched  stiffly,  and  standing  up  like  a  tall 
helmet.  Thus  oddly  toupeed,  her  tiny,  pinched 
face,  with  the  long,  hooked  nose  and  peaked 
chin  nearly  meeting  over  the  toothless  mouth, 
presents  a  ludicrous  picture  as  to  size  and  gen- 
eral outline. 

The  only  large  thing  about  her  is  her  voice. 
It  is  loud  and  full,  and  rings  out  with  a  mas- 
culine power  which  startles  you,  coming  as  it 
does  from  so  spirituelle  a  subject.  She  is  very 
sociable.  She  will  talk  and  laugh  with  herself 
by  the  hour  rather  than  be  silent.  All  her 
thinking  is  done  with  her  tongue  at  the  full 
wag.  I  have  seen  persons  in  various  places 
who  resembled  her  in  this  respect,  though  they 
belong  to  the  present,  while  she  just  lingers  to 
represent  the  past.  The  style  of  mind  is  the 
same,  and  the  thinking  of  about  the  same 
quality. 

There  is  nothing  about  the  old  lady  more 
interesting  than  her  unquestioning  faith  in 
ghosts  and  witches.  Witches  take  the  pre- 
cedence. That  is  natural.  You  can't  mix  up 
ghosts  with  the  every-day  affairs  of  life  as 
you  can  witches.  They  are  a  different  order 
of  beings,  with  more  dignitv,  more  exclusive- 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  385 

ness.  The  old  lady  has  often  "hearn  tell" 
about  ghosts,  but  she  knows  about  witches,  and 
if  a  person  can't  stand  upon  their  own  experi- 
ence, where  can  they  find  a  foundation  ? 

"There  are  people,"  she  tells  us,  "  who  don't 
believe  in  witches.  I  hope  you  are  not  one  of 
them." 

"  I  ?  There  have  been  no  witches  in  our 
neighborhood,  you  know.  I  have  had  no 
means  of  making  up  a  correct  opinion  on  the 
subject." 

"  Sure  enough  !  I  might  have  known  that. 
Perhaps  you  don't  care  to  be  convinced." 

"  O  yes  !  I  like  to  know  what  to  believe." 

"  Well,  then,  you  just  sit  down  in  that  low 
chair,  and  I'll  tell  you  some  things  I  know. 
Not  that  chair  ;  take  the  cushioned  one,  the 
rocking  chair.  So  you've  brought  your  knit- 
ting. Wait  till  I  get  mine,  and  we'll  just  settle 
down  for  the  evening.  We  wont  go  in  very 
deep.  It  would  scare  you  to  death  if  I  should 
tell  you  some  things.  But  I'll  tell  you  about 
old  Manti  Fulleston." 

"  The  very  old  lady  over  to  Rocky  Lane  ? "  I 
asked  her. 

"  Yes  ;  do  you  know  her  ?  " 


386  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  No  ;  I  only  know  there  is  such  a  person. 
She  is  a  hundred  years  old." 

"  She  was  a  witch  forty  years  ago  ;  is  one 
now  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary  ;  was  one 
then,  at  all  events.  She  used  to  live  in  the 
other  part  of  this  house.  Her  old  man  and 
mine  were  both  living  then.  She  had  one 
daughter  and  I  two.  Both  of  mine  are  dead." 

"  Did  she  live  here  long  ? "  I  asked,  for  she 
came  to  a  full  stop  in  her  narrative,  and  seemed 
to  forget  it  entirely. 

"  Who  ? " 

"  Why,  Marm  Fulleston.  You  were  going  to 
tell  me  about  her  being  a  witch." 

"  So  I  was,  sure  enough !  Yes,  she  lived 
here  four  years.  We  got  on  together  nicely  at 
first,  but  in  the  second  summer  my  butter  was 
better  than  hers  and  there  was  more  of  it, 
though  we  had  the  same  number  of  cows. 
Every  body  praised  my  butter,  and  I  suppose 
she  could  not  bear  it.  I  took  great  pains  with 
it ;  I  always  did  with  every  thing.  I  never 
thought  of  putting  her  out,  and  I  didn't  know 
she  was  a  witch  at  first." 

"What  didjshedo?" 

"She  bewitched  the  milk  the  first  thing.     It 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  387 

would  sour  and  curdle  before  I  could  strain  it 
into  the  pans.  I  had  to  put  witch-wood  all 
round  the  pails  and  pans  to  keep  it  sweet. 
Then  she  tried  the  cream  in  the  churn.  It 
would  turn  as  sour  as  vinegar  as  soon  as  we 
began  to  stir  it.  That  made  me  mad,  so  I  just 
put  the  shovel  and  tongs  in  the  fire  till  they 
were  red-hot,  and  then  thrust  them  suddenly 
into  the  cream.  I'll  show  you  that  churn." 

She  opened  a  dark  closet  near  her  and 
brought  out  a  common  wooden  churn. 

"  Look  here,  see  how  I  burned  the  sides  and 
bottom.  The  old  witch  was  glad  to  leave  my 
churn  and  keep  out  of  it  too  after  that.  She 
never  troubled  it  again  when  I  was  at  home." 

"  Why,  how  could  the  hot  irons  affect  her  ? " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Well,  you  are  green. 
It  was  all  the  same  as  if  I  had  laid  them  on  to 
her  bodily.  She  kept  her  bed  more'n  a  week. 
They  pretended  'twas  the  rheumatics,  but  I  saw 
her  girl  making  up  a  salve  for  burns.  They 
couldn't  cheat  me.  But  I  must  own  that  I 
was  real  sorry,  for  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  her  so 
much." 

"  I  suppose  you  had  no  further  trouble  with 
vour  cream." 


388  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  Not  till  late  in  the  fall.  I  went  then  to 
stay  a  couple  of  days  with  Nancy  Lake,  who 
was  dying  with  consumption.  I  put  the  cream 
into  the  churn  before  I  started,  and  the  girls 
knew  how  to  make  up  the  rolls  as  well  as  I  did. 
Well,  the  girls  churned  and  churned  upon  that 
cream,  and  the  old  man  he  churned  ;  they  were 
at  it  nigh  about  all  the  time  I  was  gone,  but  it 
didn't  change  a  bit.  When  I  got  home  it  looked 
exactly  as  it  did  when  I  left  it.  As  soon  as  I 
looked  at  it  I  knew  what  ailed  it. 

"  Why,  how  could  you  tell  ? " 

"Any  body  could  tell  that  there  wasn't  a 
natural  state  of  things  in  that  churn." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  do  about  it  ?" 

"  O,  it  didn't  bother  me  a  minute.  I  knew 
just  what  to  do.  It  wont  do  to  speak  when 
you  are  trying  to  start  out  a  witch  ;  you  can 
tree  them  like  a  coon,  and  torment  them  if  you 
want  to  punish  them,  but  if  you  want  to  get  rid 
of  them  you  must  hold  your  tongue.  Do  you 
see  the  difference  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  So  I  said  nothing  to  nobody,  but  went 
straight  up  stairs  into  the  garret  over  the  back 
kitchen,  where  I  got  two  leaves  out  of  an  old 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  389 

Bible.  I  put  one  leaf  under  the  churn  and  laid 
one  on  the  top,  and  that  butter  came  in  five 
minutes." 

"  Really,  there  must  be  something  in  know- 
ing how  to  manage,"  I  said  heartily,  beginning 
to  feel  that  our  late  days  were  rather  tame  in 
comparison  with  "  Jang  syne." 

"  Sure  enough  !  But  Marm  Fulleston  was  in 
full  mettle  again.  The  very  next  day  my  old 
man  came  running  into  the  back  room  where  I 
was  shelling  beans  and  told  me  that  the  pig 
was  bewitched. 

"'The  massy!'  says  I  ;  '  what'll  come  next?' 

" '  Don'  know,'  says  he  ;  '  better  'tend  to  this 
'fore  any  thing  more  turns  up.' 

"  So  I  called  Betsy  to  shell  the  beans  and 
then  follered  the  old  man  out  to  the  sty.  Sure 
enough  !  there  was  the  pig  whirling  round  and 
round  on  the  very  tip  of  his  nose,  with  his  hind 
legs  a  cutting  through  the  air  like  a  set  of  yarn 
swifts.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it." 

"  Yes,  it  would  have  been  a  curious  sight. 
Didn't  you  think  of  the  Scripture  swine  that 
the  devils  entered  into?" 

"  No  ;  there  wasn't  any  time  to  think  of  any 
thing.  There's  no  use  in  thinking  when  you're 


390  (Jlimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

dealing  with  witches,  if  there  ever  is.     You've 
got  to  do  something  first." 

"  Yes.  Tell  me  what  you  did.  I  should 
have  been  at  a  loss  how  to  manage." 

"  I  wasn't.  I  went  back  into  the  kitchen 
without  speaking  a  word  and  got  a  brimming 
ladle  full  of  biling  water  and  threw  it  straight 
into  that  pig's  face.  That  brought  his  heels 
down  and  his  head  up  pretty  lively." 

"Didn't  it  scald  him  badly?" 

"  The  pig  ?  Of  course  not.  But  old  Mother 
Fulleston's  face  was  blistered  all  over.  It  shows 
the  scar  now.  I  never  see  such  a  burn  afore. 
She  made  believe  she'd  got  the  erysipelas,  and 
old  Doctor  Brown  actilly  came  and  doctored  her 
for  erysipelas,  but  I  knew  better  all  the  time. 
Have  a  pinch  of  snuff?" 

"  No,  I  never  take  it.  Thank  you  all  the 
same.  I  think  that  Ma'am  Fulleston  must 
have  been  cured  of  meddling  with  your  affairs 
after  that." 

"  Well,  she  was  a  little  shy  for  some  time, 
only  if  I  left  home  sh£  would  bother  the  girls. 
You  see  a  witch  is  a  witch.  The  root  of  the 
matter  is  in  'em,  and  it  will  work  out.  It  aint 
like  a  sickness  that  one  gets  well  of  or  dies  ol. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  391 

•It  goes  by  fits  and  starts  just  as  it  gets  a 
chance,  and  it  keeps  ye  alive  if  ye  try  to  govern 
it.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  always  stay  at  home 
to  watch  the  house,  and  the  girls  were  just 
like  young  chickens.  The  old  man  was  good 
enough  in  his  way,  but  the  massy!  he  was  no 
match  for  witches.  So  we  had  to  warn  them 
to  leave,  and  they  moved  over  to  Rocky  Lane." 

"  Where  she  lives  now  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  they  bought  the  place." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  had  no  trouble  since. 
No  trouble  with  witches,  I  mean." 

"  Plenty  of  it,  but  no  remarkable  trouble  with 
her ;  that  is,  after  the  first  few  weeks.  She 
gave  us  up  then,  I  suppose.  But  the  next  Sun- 
day, when  we  were  coming  home  from  meeting, 
the  horse  stopped  right  before  her  door  and 
would  not  stir  for  an  hour.  We  were  in  an 
open  wagon,  and  it  rained  as  hard  as  it  could 
pour.  I  would  not  go  into  her  house,  at  any 
rate,  and  there  was  no  other  within  half  a 
mile  So  we  sat  still  in  our  best  clothes  and 
soaked  and  soaked  till  it  stopped  raining,  and 
then  the  horse  went  home  without  any  diffi- 
culty. Ever  since  that  we've  put  witch-wood  in 
the  harness." 


392  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  some  witch-wood.  What- 
is  it  like?" 

"  That's  witch-wood  on  the  top  of  the  settle. 
There's  some  on  that  nail  over  the  shelf  and  on 
the  looking-glass  behind  you.  But  it's  dried  up 
so  that  you  can't  tell  how  it  looks  green.  It 
loses  its  power  when  it  dries  up.  There  aint 
much  virtue  in  them  twigs,  though  they're  bet- 
ter'n  nothing." 

"Does  Ma'am  Fulleston  tell  fortunes?" 

"  No  ;  bless  you,  child,  she'd  never  own  she 
was  a  witch  at  all.  She'll  die  likely  with  some 
such  lie  in  her  mouth.  But  nobody  ever  saw 
her  inside  a  church  or  anywhere  among  Chris- 
tians. She  used  to  read  her  Bible  a  good  deal  ; 
it  was  easy  enough  to  guess  what  for.  Then 
she  was  everlastingly  in  the  woods  a-gathering 
herbs  and  roots  and  stewing  them  down  into 
salves,  and  syrups,  and  all  sorts  of  medicines. 
Folks  called  her  odd.  Odd !  T  guess  she  was. 
Half  the  neighbors  would  send  for  her  sooner 
than  a  doctor  if  they  were  sick,  and  I  sup- 
pose she  'witched  them  all,  for  they  all  stood 
up  for  her.  I  don't  suppose  there  were  over 
a  dozen  people  in  our  town  who  believed  she 
was  a  witch.  There  was  no  use  in  telling 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  393 

them.  If  I  tried  to  convince  them  they'd  turn 
as  cool  as  cucumbers,  and  keep  away  from  me 
instead  of  her.  But  what  I  know  I  know.  A 
fact  is  a  fact  any  day.  You  can't  get  away 
from  that." 

"That  is  true.  You  spoke  of  the  old  woman's 
daughter  ;  what  became  of  her  ? " 

"  She's  married  long  ago ;  married  into  a 
first-rate  family,  too.  She  was  a  sweet,  pretty 
girl,  not  at  all  witchey,  like  her  mother.  Her 
husband  has  been  to  .the  legislater  twice.  He 
is  one  of  the  selectmen  now." 

"  Where  do  they  live  ? " 

"  Over  with  the  old  woman.  They've  got  a 
fine  place  of  their  own,  but  she  stuck  to  her  old 
home,  so  they  shut  up  their  house  and  came  to 
Rocky  Lane.  Their  children  are  off  at  school, 
and  they'll  stay,  likely,  while  her  old  mother 
lives." 

"Do  you  visit  them?"  I  asked  with  some 
curiosity. 

"No;  but  between  you  and  me,"  said  the 
old  lady,  hitching  her  chair  nearer  to  mine  and 
nipping  a  fresh  pinch  of  snuff,  "between  you 
and  me,  I  should  really  enjoy  going  over  there 
some  time  if  it  were  not  for  this  witch  business. 


394  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

But  when  you  know  a  thing  you  know  it,"  she 
added,  shutting  her  box  positively,  "and  there's 
no  such  thing  as  getting  rid  of  it.  A  chair  is 
a  chair,  say  what  you  will ;  and  facts  are  facts, 
sure  enough  ! " 

SCHOOL-DAYS. 

The  fond  attachment  to  the  well-known  place 
Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race. 
Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 
We  feel  it  e'en  in  age  and  at  our  latest  day. 

— COWPER. 

There  is  no  time  in  the  past  to  which  my 
memory  clings  more  tenaciously  than  to  the 
days  spent  in  the  old  red  school-house.  It 
would  be  impossible  now  to  recognize  the  most 
of  my  associates,  even  if  they  could  be  gathered 
together  from  the  various  parts  of  the  earth  to 
which  they  have  wandered,  and  sit  down  with 
me  for  a  chat  this  evening.  They  would  have 
all  outgrown  my  memories  of  them. 

The  partially  gray  hair  and  wrinkled  cheeks, 
the  faded  lips  and  dimmed  eyes,  would  not 
recall  the  bright  locks  and  chubby  faces  that  I 
remember.  Some  of  them  have  been  dead 
many  years,  others  have  become  premature!) 
old  with  sickness  or  sorrow,  and  all  have  nearlv 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  395 

lost  their  identity  beneath  the  changing  touch 
of  time. 

Yet  not  one  of  them  are  lost  to  me.  Every  one 
of  those  fresh  young  faces  are  held  safely  in  the 
casket  of  which  my  memory  keeps  the  key. 
Ah,  what  pleasant,  smiling  faces  they  are! 

It  is  strange  that,  among  so  many  reminis- 
cences, I  have  treasured  so  little  that  is  sad. 
Those  school-days  are  like  a  prolonged  frolic. 
The  mischievous  pranks  of  the  roguish  pupils 
lose  none  of  their  keen  relish  when  reviewed 
by  maturer  vision.  My  eyes  readily  moisten 
at  the  hearing  of  the  tale  of  sorrow,  but  the 
mishaps  of  my  youth  retain  only  their  ludicrous 
aspects  ;  and  whatever  of  pathos  they  may  have 
had,  the  remembrance  provokes  laughter  oftener 
than  tears. 

There  was  a  pale,  slender  child  in  my  class 
called  Lucy.  Our  ages  and  natural  tastes  were 
the  same,  and  we  were  seldom  asunder.  Light- 
brown,  almost  yellow,  hair  shaded  her  plain 
freckled  face,  but  her  clear  blue  eyes  were  al- 
most beautiful.  How  restless  she  was !  She 
seemed  to  have  no  power  to  keep  still. 

She  was  never  a  favorite  with  the  teachers, 
though  there  was  no  difficulty  about  her  reci- 
26 


396  Glimpses  of  our  La^c  Region. 

tations.  They  were  committed  perfectly,  and 
so  she  was  a  credit  to  the  school.  The 
troubles  grew  out  of  her  leisure  time.  She  was 
restricted  to  certain  studies,  which  were  like 
pastime  to  her,  taking  in  as  she  did  the  whole 
scope  of  the  lesson  at  a  single  reading.  Mis- 
chief became  a  necessity  to  her.  She  does  not 
recollect  a  single  tribute  to  her  good  behavior 
like  the  "  rewards  of  merit "  exhibited  by  other 
children. 

Looking  back  over  thirty  years,  it  seems  a 
pity  that  no  one  understood  her,  and  that  no 
effort  was  made  to  direct  her  surplus  energy 
and  restless  activity  of  mind  into  wholesome 
channels. 

I  particularly  remember,  in  connection  with 
her,  one  summer  afternoon  in  August.  It  was 
one  of  those  sultry,  listless  days,  when  the  most 
vigorous  temperament  succumbs  to  the  ener- 
vating influence  of  the  weather.  How  sleepy 
we  were  !  How  utterly  impossible  it  seemed 
to  trace  correctly  the  outline  of  a  map,  or  to 
commit  those  uncouth  abbreviations !  Even 
the  teacher  was  conquered  by  the  oppressive 
heat,  and  sat  dozing  in  her  chair  behind  her 
desk. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  397 

No  one  seemed  to  be  fairly  awake  excepting 
Lucy.  I  can  see  her  now,  reaching  over  her 
desk  to  tickle  the  neck  of  a  girl  in  front  of  her 
with  a  wisp  of  straw,  and  then  suddenly  twitch- 
ing single  hairs  from  the  bowed  head  of  a  sleep- 
ing boy  across  the  aisle.  She  pinned  labels  to 
the  boys'  jackets,  and,  slipping  down  under  the 
benches,  contrived  to  attach  long  strips  of 
white  and  brown  paper  to  the  hems  of  the  girls' 
dresses. 

Presently  the  teacher  roused  herself,  and 
called  the  second  class  in  mental  arithmetic 
to  recite  their  lesson.  It  was  this  class  that 
had  furnished  the  subjects  for  Lucy'*  skill  in 
the  ornamental  line,  and  she  bent  her  head  and 
industriously  began  to  search  for  the  most  ob- 
scure places  on  her  maps,  when  she  heard  the 
rustling  of  the  paper  appendages,  followed  by 
the  stifled  giggling  of  the  whole  school. 

"  Lucy  Dow  !  "  called  the  teacher.  She  always 
looked  to  Lucy  for  the  explanation  of  any  mis- 
chief. "  Lucy  !  " 

"  Ma'am  !  " 

"  Take  your  books  into  the  garret  and  study 
by  yourself." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 


398  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

Lucy  obeyed  with  alacrity.  She  used  to  say 
that  if  there  was  one  place  pleasanter  to  her 
than  another  it  was  the  old  garret.  The  school- 
house  garret  had  its  disadvantages,  being  low, 
and  hot,  and  dirty,  but  it  was  better  than  no 
garret. 

There  was  a  pail  of  water  standing  on  a 
bench  in  the  entry,  and  Lucy,  mindful  of  the 
heat  above,  decided  to  take  it  along.  She  had 
no  desire  to  study,  no  intention  of  doing  so. 
There  was  a  round  hole  in  the  floor,  cut  for 
the  accommodation  of  a  stove-pipe  in  winter 
time,  and  serving  for  a  ventilator  in  summer. 
Lucy  carefully  placed  her  books  on  the  rough 
casement  of  the  little  window,  and  then  sat 
down  on  the  floor  by  the  hole  to  amuse  herself 
by  watching  the  children  below. 

The  class  in  arithmetic  were  still  on  the  floor, 
and  one  of  the  girls  stood  directly  beneath  the 
opening.  To  attract  her  attention  Lucy  brought 
the  pail  of  water,  and,  dipping  her  fingers  in  it, 
showered  a  few  drops  upon  the  child's  head, 
who,  startled  by  the  dripping  coolness,  sprang 
aside  with  a  half-suppressed  scream. 

"  Mary  Lee,  be  quiet !  What  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  "  interrogated  the  teacher  angrily. 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  399 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am.  I — I  guess  the  plas- 
tering leaks." 

"  Leaks  !  this  dry,  hot  day !  What  a  little 
simpleton ! " 

"  My  hair  is  wet,"  said  Mary,  putting  her 
hands  to  her  head. 

"  Is  it  ?  stand  aside  and  let  me  see,"  said  the 
teacher,  happening  to  remember  Lucy,  and  in- 
ferring at  once  that  she  was  at  the  bottom,  or, 
rather,  at  the  top,  of  the  mischief.  Lucy  did 
not  choose  to  be  so  soon  interrupted  in  her 
sport,  but  in  suddenly  drawing  back  from  view 
she  accidentally  upset  the  pail  of  water  over  the 
hole  just  as  the  schoolmistress  brought  her  face 
beneath  it. 

"  O  dear  ! "  exclaimed  Lucy,  laughing  hyster- 
ically at  this  climax  of  trouble,  "  what  shall  I 
do  !  what  shall  I  do !  I'll  run  away ! " 

She  flew  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  open 
air  before  the  teacher  could  regain  her  breath 
so  as  to  speak  to  her.  But  directly  two  of  the 
largest  boys  were  sent  out  to  bring  her  back  to 
the  school-room  by  force.  This  Lucy  resented 
as  an  indignity.  She  would  not  submit  to  it. 
For  the'  first  time  since  the  summer  school  be- 
gan she  felt  angry. 


4OO  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"I  should  look  pretty  a-being  lugged  into 
school  by  those  big  boys.  If  she'd  asked  me 
politely  I'd  gone  in  of  myself,  but  I  wont  go  in 
now.  And  I'll  keep  the  boys  out  too,  if  1  ~an. 
Johnny  Wilbur!  say,  Johnny  Wilbur!" 

"  O,  there  she  is,  up  on  the  hill,"  said  Johnny, 
looking  in  the  direction  of  her  voice.  "  Come, 
Lucy.  Tim  Jones  and  me  is  to  fetch  you  back. 
D'ye  hear?" 

"  Look  here,  Johnny,  you  know  those  big 
peaches  over  to  our  house,  down  by  the  brook. 
We're  going  to  pick  'em  after  school.  Shouldn't 
you  and  Tim  like  to  come  over  ?  " 

"  Yes,  crackee  !  Them  are  peaches — real 
busters.  Tim,  have  you  seen  'em  ? " 

"  No,  but  Susy  told  me  about  them.     I'll  go." 

"  But,  Lucy,"  said  Johnny,  scarcely  knowing 
how  to  carry  on  hostilities  in  prospect  of  the 
peaches,  the  teacher  told  us  to  come  for  you." 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  I  sha'n't  go  in,  and  you 
know  you  can't  catch  me  if  you  try.  You  just 
get  my  sun-bonnet  from  the  entry,  will  you  ? 
It's  a  blue  one — gingham." 

"  I  can't ;  she'd  see  me.     You'd  better  go  in." 

"  O  fiddlestick !  don't  bother.  You  see," 
said  Lucy,  "  mother  don't  like  me  to  tan  my 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  401 

neck  ;  but  I  can  put  my  apron  over  it  to  keep 
off  the  sun." 

"  We  shall  catch  it  if  we  go  back  without 
you,  Lucy,"  said  Tim. 

"  She  told  us  to  get  some  birch  sticks,"  added 
Johnny. 

"  To  whip  me  with,  I  suppose,"  said  Lucy, 
nodding  her  head  at  the  school-house,  and  danc- 
ing about  restlessly  as  usual.  "  Well,  it's  too 
hot  to  be  whipped.  I  shouldn't  enjoy  it.  If 
you  go  in  perhaps  she'll  try  it, on  you  first." 

"  We've  got  to  go  in,  you  know." 

"  No  ;  I  don't  know.  You've  got  your  hats 
on,  and  you  can  keep  looking  for  me  till  it's  too 
late  to  go  in.  Don't  you  see  ? " 

The  boys  laughed.  "  To  be  sure,"  said  Tim 
approvingly. 

"  Well,  hunt  for  me  down  in  that  hollow,  will 
you  ?  I'll  just  show  her  that  I'm  alive,  and  then 
we'll  hunt  for  peaches." 

There  were  close  wooden  blinds  to  all  the 
school-house  windows.  They  were  called  shut- 
ters. Those  on  the  shady  side  were  open,  but 
on  the  side  toward  the  hill  where  Lucy  stood 
they  were  shut  to  exclude  the  sun.  It  was  easy 
for  her  to  approach  unobserved,  and  to  creep 


402  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

round  to  the  open  windows  before,  any  one  saw 
her.  Stooping  under  them,  she  managed  to  un- 
fasten the  shutters  without  noise,  and  ran  fear- 
lessly along  the  whole  line,  closing  each  blind 
with  a  loud  bang  as  she  passed  it,  and  so  shut- 
ting up  the  whole  school  in  total  darkness. 

"  Now,"  said  Lucy  as  she  walked  contentedly 
away,  "  if  she's  got  any  manners  I  hope  she'll 
show  it  next  time." 

She  made  no  secret  of  the  affair  on  reaching 
home,  and  did  not  object  to  the  consequent  pun- 
ishment ;  but.  it  did  come  hard  the  next  morning 
to  ask  the  teacher's  pardon.  To  her  surprise, 
it  was  graciously  accorded,  and  the  fine  peaches, 
which  she  had  brought  for  a  peace-offering,  but 
had  magnanimously  resolved  to  withhold  till 
after  her  punishment  was  over,  lest  they  might 
seem  a  bribe  to  her  judge,  were  accepted  with 
a  cordial  grace  that  went  to  Lucy's  heart.  "  I 
wonder  if  I  can  be  good,"  said  the  child  to 
herself. 

Thinking  about  Lucy  and  my  school  days, 
there  comes  up  before  me  all  at  once  a  scene 
that  I  would  give  much  to  be  able  to  portray 
vividly.  Lucy  had  a  sister  Anna,  a  bright, 
pleasant  girl,  but  so  constitutionally  timid  as 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region  403 

seriously  to  affect  her  happiness.  She  was  very 
much  afraid  of  snakes.  Most  children  fear 
them,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  general  antipathy 
between  them  and  many  grown  people.  Anna 
had  a  constant,  morbid  terror  of  them. 

She  could  not  enjoy  berrying,  because  there 
might  be  snakes  in  the  bushes.  She  could  not 
gather  for  herself  the  ripe  fruits  of  the  orchard, 
because  a  snake  might  be  coiled  for  a  spring 
among  the  green  branches  of  the  trees.  When 
the  rest  of  us,  venturing  on  forbidden  pleasures, 
left  our  shoes  and  stockings  upon  the  banks  of 
the  river,  and  leisurely  waded  up  and  down  the 
stream,  or  hid  under  the  cool,  shadowy  arches 
of  the  bridge,  she  could  not  be  tempted  to  share 
the  sport  because  of  the  harmless,  striped  water- 
snakes  that  sometimes  tickled  our  bare  feet. 
And  when,  one  hot  evening,  it  was  found  that 
a  milk-snake  had  noiselessly  entered  the  dairy 
window  and  helped  himself  to  a  supper  of 
sweet  rich  cream,  she  lost  all  sense  of  security 
anywhere. 

It  was  the  next  day  after  this  serpentine 
"raid"  that  she  was  returning  from  school  at 
noon,  and  thinking  of  mother  Eve's  courage  in 
chatting  confidentially  with  the  old  serpent  of 


404          Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

all,  when  she  felt  a  slight  pull  on  the  skirt  of 
her  dress. 

"  Hullo,  Anna!"  shouted  a  mischievous  boy 
on  the  opposite  walk,  "  what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  that  snake  ? " 

Poor  Anna  just  glanced  over  her  shoulder 
and  saw  a  long,  slender,  dark  object  clinging  to 
her  dress  behind.  Of  course,  it  was  a  snake, 
and  she  was  wild  with  terror  at  once.  Before 
any  one  could  undeceive  her  she  started  off  for 
home  at  a  rate  of  speed  that  would  have  been 
impossible  for  any  child  not  under  the  influence 
of  mortal  fear.  It  was  not  exactly  a  running 
race,  for,  with  the  effort  to  escape,  there  was 
also  a  struggle  to  shake  off  the  reptile.  The 
result  was  a  succession  of  the  most  extraordi- 
nary leaps  ever  executed  by  any  animal,  the 
kangaroo  excepted. 

With  every  frantic  bound  into  the  air  she 
uttered  a  shrill  shriek,  which  would  alone  have 
frightened  away  a  battalion  of  serpents. 

The  family  at  home  were  sitting  quietly  at 
their  dinner,  when,  through  the  open  doors, 
they  saw  Anna  coming  up  the  street  after  the 
manner  described,  jumping  and  screaming  with 
all  her  might.  In  less  than  a  moment  she  was 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  405 

hurrying  directly  by  her  own  door,  and  heading 
straight  for  the  old  South  meeting-house,  three 
miles  away.  Anna's  father  was  utterly  unable 
to  understand  this  curious  exhibition  of  gym- 
nastic and  vocal  power  in  the  usually  quiet 
child,  but  he  lost  not  a  moment  in  hurrying  to 
her  assistance.  He  was  too  late  to  arrest  her 
progress. 

How  far  she  might  have  gone  it  is  impossible 
to  say,  though  it  is  probable  that  she  would  have 
kept  on  till  her  unnatural  strength  had  become 
exhausted  if  no  obstacle  had  appeared  in  her 
way.  But  it  fortunately  happened  that  an  old 
man  was  leading  a  horse  across  the  road  at  a 
little  distance.  He  stopped  short  when  he  saw 
her  coming.  He  was  a  rough-spoken,  though 
kind-hearted,  old  fellow,  with  a  voice  that  was 
easily  heard  for  half  a  mile  when  he  chose  to 
raise  it.  "  Stop  ! "  he  thundered  as  his  eye  took 
in  the  state  of  affairs,  "  stop,  or  I'll  knock  you 
down.  You  great  dumb,  dory-head  !  where  are 
you  dragging  that  old  brier  ? " 

Anna  stopped  at  once.  There  was  not  a  child 
in  the  neighborhood  who  dared  to  disobey  the 
old  man,  and  Anna  stood  in  especial  awe  of 
him.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  on  seeing  for 


406  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

herself  the  innocent  brier  would  have  been  too 
much  for  her  if  she  had  found  any  sympathy  in 
her  trouble ;  but  he  kept  on  scolding  her  till 
the  color  came  back  to  her  face.  It  was  the 
best  service  he  could  have  done  her.  By  the 
time  her  father  came  up  with  them  she  was 
able  to  explain  her  strange  performance.  How 
that  old  man  laughed !  How  every  body  laughed ! 
How  people  laugh  still,  after  all  these  years, 
as  they  recall  that  wonderful  exhibition  of 
agility ! 

O  the  fresh,  unstudied  fun  of  childhood  !  It 
will  not  be  forgotten.  Its  memories  throng  up 
from  the  buried  past,  and  so  insist  upon  their 
right  to  a  resurrection  that  I  have  no  heart  to 
enforce  a  longer  sepulture.  Shall  I  make  room 
for  just  another? 

It  was  the  close  of  the  winter  school.  The 
teacher  was  a  pious  young  man  preparing  for 
the  ministry,  and  he  had  occasionally  assembled 
the  pupils  and  their  parents  in  the  old  red 
school-house  to  listen  to  a  short  lecture  or  ser- 
mon. Every  body  liked  the  good  young  man, 
and  it  was  with  real  regret  that  the  announce- 
ment of  his  farewell  lecture  was  received.  A 
crowded  house  for  that  last  evening  was  certain, 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          407 

and  a  gratifying  interest  was  manifested.  Be- 
longing to  the  school  was  a  small  boy,  small  in 
size,  but  at  least  half  a  dozen  years  older  than 
he  looked.  The  children  called  him  Captain 
Joe.  He  had  obtained  this  sobriquet  by  oc- 
casionally mustering  the  young  militia  of  the 
school  into  regular  lines  and  training  them  for 
soldiers.  There  were  as  many  girls  as  boys 
under  his  command,  and  Captain  Joe  thus  ac- 
knowledged the  equality  of  the  sexes  in  advance 
of  all  the  "  women's  rights  conventions." 

It  occurred  to  Captain  Joe  that  some  especial 
evidence  of  regard  on  the  part  of  his  young 
warriors  might  be  acceptable  to  the  retiring 
pedagogue,  and,  having  matured  his  plan,  he 
summoned  the  light  infantry  to  the  neighbor- 
ing wood  to  be  instructed  in  the  programme. 
I  was  then  about  seven  years  old,  and  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  be  young  enough  to  serve. 

First,  we  were  each  presented  with  two 
smooth  sticks,  about  two  feet  long,  and  in- 
structed in  their  use  as  substitutes  for  fiddles 
and  fiddle-bows.  Next  we  were  drilled  in  the 
pronunciation  of  certain  cabalistic  words  which 
none  of  us  understood  then,  or  have  since  com- 
prehended. 


408  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

"  Knicklenuckle,  knicklenuckle,  kernuck,  ker- 
nuck,  nuck." 

When  we  were  perfect  in  this,  and  could  re- 
peat the  words  in  concert,  with  a  uniform  ac- 
cent, we  were  next  shown  how  to  fiddle  them 
properly.  Captain  Joe  soon  expressed  himself 
satisfied  with  our  proficiency.  He  then  told  us 
that  he  wished  to  give  a  gratifying  surprise  to 
our  parents  as  well  as  our  teacher,  and,  there- 
fore, all  information  in  regard  to  our  plans 
would  be  contraband. 

We  were  to  sit  together  as  usual  on  the 
middle  aisle  of  the  school-house,  the  side-seats 
being  reserved  for  the  visitors.  As  soon  as  the 
teacher  had  finished  his  lecture  we  were  to  rise 
simultaneously  and  march  in  couples  up  the 
center,  and  then,  dividing  our  forces,  pass  down 
the  side-aisles,  fiddling  and  repeating  as  loudly 
as  possible  the  words  we  had  been  taught. 
After  which  we  were  to  report  to  his  head- 
quarters in  the  wood. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  cold,  but  as  clear  as 
a  bell.  I  remember  nothing  at  all  of  the  lect- 
ure, for  I  was  fumbling  in  the  desk  before  me 
half  the  time  to  make  sure  that  my  sticks  were 
all  right.  The  rest  of  our  little  company  were 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          409 

as  anxious  as  myself  that  all  should  go  off 
creditably.  The  lecture  seemed  very  long  to 
us.  It  must  have  been  interesting,  for  it  com- 
pletely absorbed  the  attention  of  the  general 
audience,  and  when,  in  closing,  the  speaker  sol- 
emnly and  affectionately  bade  them  adieu,  there 
were  few  who  did  not  shed  tears.  He  was 
himself  greatly  affected,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands  as  he  sat  down. 

Now  for  it.  We  were  in  line  in  a  moment. 
"  Knicklenuckle,  knicklenuckle,  kernuck,  ker- 
nuck,  nuck,"  came  out  with  a  full  sonorous 
power  worthy  of  a  "  Fourth  of  July."  The 
long  sticks  played  in  perfect  time  and  we  kept 
step  to  a  charm.  Up  the  center,  down  the 
side  aisles. 

We  had  not  proceeded  quite  half-way  down 
the  side  aisle  when  a  strong  hand  unceremo- 
niously twitched  me  out  of  the  ranks,  and  I 
found  myself  in  a  seat  with  my  mother,  who 
held  on  to  my  arm  with  an  iron  grasp  and 
shook  me  vigorously  whenever  she  could  stop 
her  own  shaking  from  hysterical  laughter.  The 
meeting  broke  up  without  the  usual  benediction. 
Ay,  but  didn't  we  catch  it  next  day?  All  but 
Captain  Joe. 


4IO  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region: 

FAREWELL    GLIMPSE. 

The  splendor  of  the  summer  has  gone  by, 
and  the  russet  leafage  of  late  October  is  falling 
to  the  ground.  All  nature  seems  to  be  enjoy- 
ing a  grateful  rest,  and  suggests  to  the  thought- 
ful mind  the  sweetest  rest  that  awaits  the  Chris- 
tian when  the  feverish  struggle  of  life  shall  be 
over. 

At  this  season  the  mind  seeks  for  itself  a 
more  serious  cast  of  thought,  a  deeper  experi- 
ence, and  a  stronger  feeling  than  was  induced 
by  the  beauty  and  the  maturity  of  the  summer. 
I  have  no  fellowship  with  the  popular,  poetic 
complaint : 

"  The  melancholy  days  are  come, 
The  saddest  of  the  year,"  etc. 

It  has  more  misanthropy  than  truth  in  it.  The 
autumn's  bracing  vigor,  its  long,  cool  evenings 
by  the  cheerful  fireside,  and  the  earnest  reflec- 
tions excited  by  its  every-clay  teachings,  make 
it  for  me  the  most  desirable  season  of  the  year. 
Its  sear  decay  is  not  a  mournful  sight  when  we 
remember  thai  the  great  principle  of  life  abides 
forever,  and  that  the  returning  spring  will  bring 
to  the  lightest  spray  of  the  willow  and  the 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.          4 1 1 

scantiest  mat  of  grasses  a  resurrection  of 
verdure  and  beauty. 

The  wasted  flower-bed  by  the  garden-wall 
will  again  grow  sweet  with  delicate  myrtle 
bloom,  and  the  blue  gentian  and  crimson  rho- 
dendron  will  anew  variegate  the  living  robe 
of  the  hills.  The  beautiful  cannot  die  ;  at  its 
creation  God  stamped  it  with  immortality. 

"  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever" 

It  is  faith  rather  than  poetry  which  inspires  us 
as  we  look  out  upon  the  manifold  works  of 
the  Almighty.  As  the  mountain  streams  grow 
strong  and  swell  out  into  richer  fullness  when 
the  fervid  summer  is  over,  so  we,  sitting  on 
their  banks  and  noting  on  every  hand  the 
tokens  of  Infinite  power  and  goodness,  find  our 
shallow  rills  of  thought  deepening  into  vigorous 
and  refreshing  currents,  and  our  hearts  grow- 
ing strong  while  God  reveals  himself  unto  us. 
We  understand  and  are  thankful  for  the  stern 
discipline  of  sorrow.  It  is  God's  method  of 
teaching,  of  purifying.  We  need  intellectual 
grace  as  well  as  intellectual  strength  ;  and  grief, 
patiently  borne,  has  a  subtile,  refining  power. 

The   rough-hewn  character  may  be  reliable, 
27 


412  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

but  it  is  not  attractive.  There  are  those  whc 
pride  themselves  upon  being  "  rough  diamonds." 
it  is  like  a  disagreeable  boy  pluming  himself 
upon  a  dirty  face.  They  glory  in  the  jagged 
edges  which  so  irritate  their  neighbors.  One 
cannot  help  doubting  the  quality  of  the  dia- 
mond at  times.  God  has  given  to  these  talent, 
and  strength,  and  undisputed  force  of  character. 
But  he  has  not  superadded  the  graces  of  cul- 
ture, discipline,  and  refinement.  Each  person 
has  to  work  these  out  for  himself,  and  the 
rough  diamond  is  like  any  ordinary  stone  with- 
out them.  There  is  no  outcropping  of  vanity 
so  annoying  as  its  fancied  superiority  to  polish 
and  culture. 

We  have  "rough  diamonds"  as  well  as  pol- 
ished stones  in  our  lake  region.  Indeed,  almost 
every  phase  of  human  nature  finds  here  its  rep- 
resentative. 

We  can  scarcely  be  called  a  humble-minded 
people.  We  believe  in  ourselves  if  we  doubt 
every  thing  else.  We  have  a  sublime,  serene 
faith  in  our  own  wisdom  and  capacity.  Not  in 
acquired  wisdom,  but  in  our  inherent  brilliance 
of  intellect.  I  wonder  who  could  tell  us  any 
thing  that  we  didn't  know  before.  Few  people 


Glimpses  of  out  Lake  Region.          4 1 3 

ever  attempt  it.  Those  who  have  the  hardi- 
hood _  to  do  so  never  repeat  the  attempt.  They 
find  that  it  cannot  be  done. 

I  saw  the  experiment  tried  not  two  hours 
ago.  I  knew  it  would  fail,  and  it  did. 

"  I  say,  Sam  Boynton,"  shouted  a  waggish- 
looking  fellow  on  the  street,  "did  you  know 
they'd  caught  a  whale  up  in  Snoog's  pond  ? " 

"  Caught  him,  have  they  ?  I'm  glad  of  it.  I 
heard  they  were  after  one." 

"  They've  just  weighed  it — weighs  two  tuns." 

"  Yes,  I  hooked  my  steelyards  under  its  gills 
last  week  just  to  heft  it.  It  hasn't  gained  an 
ounce  since.  Whales  keep  about  so  always." 

The  man  eyed  Sam  Boynton  with  profound 
respect,  but  as  he  went  on  his  way  he  gave 
vent  to  a  deep-seated,  prolonged  whistle,  which 
was  very  expressive. 

We  have  no  public  library.  We  do  not  need 
one.  We  are  not  dependent  on  outsiders  for 
our  thoughts.  Besides,  we  have  found  out  that 
thinking  is  not  essential.  There  is  nothing  that 
worries,  and  frets,  and  tires  one  so  much  as 
thinking.  An  esteemed  citizen  told  me  in  con- 
fidence that  he  could  stop  thinking  at  pleasure ; 
that  he  often  stopped  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

that  he  always  made  it  a  point  to  stop  at  once 
whenever  thinking  disagreed  with  him. 

In  his  opinion,  thinking  was  at  the  bottom 
oi  all  the  evils  of  society.  "  Let  me  just  prove 
it  to  you,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "  If  people  had  not 
been  a-thinking  there  wouldn't  have  been  a  war. 
I  suppose  you  can  see  that  ?  " 

Yes,  I  saw  that.  "  And  if  there  hadn't  been 
a  war,  we  shouldn't  have  had  to  pay  a  tax  on 
every  thing  more  than  the  thing  itself  is  worth. 
There  wouldn't  be  any  war  on  taxes  either  if 
folks  would  give  up  thinking." 

I  could  not  dispute  that,  but  I  expressed  a 
wish,  which  he  sneered  at  as  "  weakly  woman- 
ish," that  his  theory  of  "  thinking  "  might  not 
become  a  regular  system  or  institution  in  my 
dear  native  town.  I  think  that  our  thinking 
powers  would  occasion  but  little  trouble  if  we 
could  somehow  have  the  conceit  taken  out  of 
us.  But  it  is  childish  to  be  always  wanting 
something  that  we  cannot  have. 

As  to  religion,  we  are  in  the  front  rank.  We 
serve  God  whenever  we  conveniently  can.  Our 
churches  are  crowded  on  every  occasion  of 
special  interest,  and  the  choir  service  is  effect- 
ive in  all  kinds  of  weather.  Our  Sabbath- 


Glimpses  of.  our  Lake  Region.  415 

schools  are  up  to  the  times,  and  their  machin- 
ery has  all  the  modern  improvements.  Our 
sewing  circles  adopt  the  approved  methods  of 
combining  wholesome  recreation  with  money- 
getting. 

Indeed,  no  one  can  be  blind  to  the  marvek>us 
changes,  if  not  improvements,  which  have  mod- 
ified our  religious  life  during  the  last  twenty 
years.  Bunyan's  footsore  pilgrims  are  glad  to 
get  into  the  shade  since  the  building  of  the 
"  Celestial  Railroad." 

To  become  a  Christian,  once,  it  was  supposed 
important  not  only  to  experience  a  change  of 
heart,  but  to  exhibit  the  effect  of  that  change 
in  the  outward  conduct.  Any  body  could  iden- 
tify a  Christian  after  a  moment's  observation 
of  him.  Regeneration  was  the  commencement 
of  a  new  life,  and  the  redeemed  spirit  expe- 
rienced a  positive  distaste  for  mere  worldly 
pleasures  and  soulless  recreations.  The  veriest 
worldling  was  so  far  behind  these  illuminated 
times  as  to  discover  an  impropriety  in  the  pres- 
ence of  professors  of  piety  at  dancing  parties, 
and  also  in  their  children's  attendance  at  danc- 
ing schools. 

It  would  have  looked  inconsistent,  to  use  no 


4 1 6  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

stronger  term,  for  a  devout  lady  to  spend  three 
fourths  of  her  time  over  the  details  of  a  fashion- 
able toilet,  or  to  consecrate  all  the  powers  of 
her  mind  to  the  maintenance  of  an  aristocratic 
position. 

Private  prayer  and  self-examination  were  held 
indispensable,  and  the  doctrines  and  mandates 
of  the  Bible  were  not  classed  among  whims 
and  oddities.  A  religious  life  was  a  laborious, 
painstaking  life.  Its  genuineness  would  have 
been  doubted  if  it  had  not  cared  for  the  sick 
and  the  destitute — if  it  had  spoken  no  words 
of  comfort  to  the  sorrowful  or  attempted  to  re- 
claim the  erring. 

It  was  a  life  of  crosses,  of  manifold  trials,  "of 
weariness  often,  of  patient  watching  and  earnest 
striving  to  walk  worthy  of  the  high  profession 
made  before  God  and  man.  The  baptismal 
vows  were  held  sicred,  and  the  covenant  be- 
tween the  repenting  sinner  and  the  reconciled 
God  was  fearfully  sublime  in  its  eternal  bearing 
upon  the  soul's  interest. 

The  name  of  God  was  spoken  reverently, 
and  the  sacred  truths  of  revelations  were  hum- 
bly acknowledged. 

Nobody  thought  of   whittling  off  the  sharp 


Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region.  417 

corners  of  the  Commandments.  Hair-splitting 
cavilers  preferred  staying  outside  of  the  Church. 
All  these  things,  so  strange  and  trivial  now, 
had  a  certain  weight  and  importance  in  those 
primitive  days. 

There  are  people  yet  living,  besides  myself, 
who  can  remember  when  a  Christian  was  ex- 
pected to  "  love  God  with  all  the  heart,  and  his 
neighbor  as  himself;' '  when  he  was  not  consid- 
ered demented  or  hopelessly  behind  the  age  if 
he  tried  to  honor  God  with  his  substance,  and 
to  "  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God.'' 

Well,  it  can't  be  denied  that  there  was  much 
real  enjoyment  in  that  old-fashioned,  self-deny- 
ing way  of  serving  the  Lord  Jesus.  They  trod 
in  the  low  valley  of  hurrn'liation,  but  the  golden 
sunbeams  of  heaven  penetrated  to  the  very 
depths.  It  seemed  full  of  dark,  threatening 
vapors  to  those  who  only  looked  over  the  brink, 
but  a  steady,  serene  light  cheered  the  accus- 
tomed traveler.  Those  who  lived  godly  lives 
suffered  the  divinely  predicted  persecution,  but 
there  was  no  power  that  could  touch  the  pre- 
cious life  hid  with  Christ  in  God. 

Remembering  their  contented  joy  in  the 
midst  of  tribulation,  catching  again  the  gleam 


4 1 8  Glimpses  of  our  Lake  Region. 

of  their  radiant  faces  upon  the  couch  of  death,  1 
would  fain  be  the  subject  of  a  like  experience,  a 
like  earnest,  living  piety.  And  this  in  the  face 
of  all  modern  improvements  upon  God's  original 
plan  for  saving  souls. 

Casting  aside,  as  worthless  dross,  all  the 
speculative  tinsel  and  plausible  worldliness 
which  makes  the  temple  of  the  Master  like  a 
"  den  of  thieves,"  I  would  clasp  to  my  heart 
the  dear  old-fashioned  Bible  of  my  ancestors, 
never  yet  altered  by  God's  permission,  and 
take  it  for  my  chart  of  life  here,  and  my  guide 
to  the  purity  and  happiness  of  a  life  in  heaven. 


THE   END. 


Rapid  Working  Library  Record.     4  >i/.->. 

No.  1  for     300  vols.,  $0  75;  by  mail JO  05 

••     2   "       600     "          1  00 ;     "      " I  -_^ 

"     3   "       'JOO     "          1  20 ;     "      " , 1  f  0 

"    4   "   1,800     "         2^5;     "      " 315 

"  There  arc  one  hundred  and  twe.-.ty  eight  books  niissin  ' 
from  our  library,"  said  a  superintendent  last  Sunday.  "  All 
wlio  have  books  will  pleo.sc  lo  bring  tliein  in  as  so»u  as  ; 
be."  The  librarian's  system  had  broken  doun — not  his 
physical  system,  strangely  enough,  but  his  record  of  b°  oks — 
and  he  couldn't  tell  \v.i  >  had  taken  out  the  missing  Looks. 
We  have  recently  cxa  nined  a  Library  Record  which  seems 
wcl.  calculated  to  p  event  such  confu-ion  and  loss,  which 
every  body  knows  is  too  common.  The  system  is  simple 
enough  :  1.  There  is  a  list  of  teachers  and  scholars,  each 
member  of  the  school  receiving  a  numl>er  by  which  he-  is 
kno\n  in  the  record.  2.  Each  of  the  remaining  pages  is 
ruled  in  checks,  ten  narrow  columns  wide  and  fifty-two  lines 
deep.  The  columns  are  numbered  and  the  lines  are  dati-d, 
••  Kir>t  Sunday  in  January,"  "  Second  Sunday  in  January,"  etc. 
3.  In  operation,  e.ich  book  in  the  library  lu.s  a  nuinU-r  corre- 
sponding to  the  number  of  theso  vertical  columns.  Suppose  , 
Ma're  .lone*  wis.'ics  to  take  out  "The  (iilcad  Guards."  SI.e 
linds  it  in  her  catalo -u^  numbered  2",  puts  that  number  v\ith 
others"  "ii  a  cud  ^  which  hears  botii  her  name  and  her  iiiimlxT) 
nnd  hands  it  in  to  tlie  librarian.  It  is  the  third  Sun  lay  in 
February.  The  clerk  give*  I  er  tlie  book,  and  tmn'mr  to  his 
Record  puts  her  number  down  i-i  the  check  rndcr  "23  .  nd  op- 
pos  te  "  February,  third  S  nday.  '  When  sh>-  brings  back  the 
book  he  cancels  the  entry.  It  has  taki-n  eons'ulerai'le  space  to 
desi-ril>e  the.  sy-tem  in  writing,  hut  a  brig  t  young  min  or 
woman — and  no  other  need  apply  for  the  libniriu-i's  place — 
will  comprehend  the  workings  of  the  system  in  five  minutes.- 
It  is  a  thoroughly  sys  pmatiz<-d,  ra|'id  working,  nnd  ensily 
kept  record,  which  w  i'l  pay  for  itself  ten  tinvs  in  a  tn'mtli  l>y 
keeping  track  of  '•  lost,  stmynl,  or  stolon  l>ook.s." — X.  .S. 
Jotirnn!. 

The  Lattice  Library.     Stories  and  I  ictuivs  foi  Chldren.    5x7 

inches.     10  vols.     5oO  pages.     3SO  ilhi.-trati'>n.~.     lualK)X 300 

There  could  be  no  handsomer,  bettei'j  cheaper  books  for  the 
primary  scholars  than  these  The  stones  are  takinsr,  abound- 
ing in  excellent  pictures,  and  varied  by  occa>ional  jingles  of 
rhyme.  We  recommend  them  heartily  to  the  mothers  and 
generous  uncles  of  tl;e  children  a<  well  as  to  tl  e  library  com- 
mittee. The  series  is  designed  for  th>-  little  folks  who  are 
jast  out  of  the  infant-class,  and  the  publishers  inform  us  that 
they  will  phortlv  publish  a  set  of  ei^ht  books  for  the  very 
"  little  tots." 

A  U'inter  in  India  and  Malaysia  A.moii5?  the  Methodist 
.Mission*.     B\  M.  V.  B.  Ku«x.  U.D.     Witha  i  loifoduetiun 

by  Bishop  J.  F".  llurst.     Uo.j  pages I  -0 

We  do  not  always  get  our  best  l>ooks  on  foreign  mi.s-i<  ns 
from  the  miauonarieH  themselves.  Occasionally  a  Butler,  a 
Mackay,  a  Paton,  or  a  Thoburn  gives  us  a  hook  which  thrills 
with  the  writer's  zeal,  and  sets  us  face  to  face  with  th?  condi- 
tions of  the  work.  But  more  frequently  the  missionary  author 
seems  to  be  too  near  his  fli-ld  to  set  the  best  view  of  it.  This 
b  one  of  the  best  books  on  India.  The  author  traveled  with 


The  Gilead  Guards.    By  Mrs.  O.  W.  Scott.    5x7  indies.    II- 

mstrated.     300  pages $1  00 

This  is  a  well-told  story  of  war  times  in  a  Vermont  village. 
It  shows  the  wrong  side  of  the  war — the  feebly  manned  farms, 
the  struggling  and  anxious  wonu-n,  the  heat  of  patriotism,  and 
the  chill  of  defeat,  capture,  and  death.  The  author's  per- 
sonal experience  of  the  scenes  which  she  describes  gives  the 
book  a  veracious  quality  which  is  very  acceptable. 

Una  and  Leo ;  or,  Changes  and  Chances.     By  Julia  Goodfel- 

low.     5x7  inches.     276  pages.     Illustrated 1  00 

The  younger — perhaps  the  youngest — scholars  will  enjoy 
this  story.  It  is  very  simply  told  but  full  of  odd  happenings 
and  eccentric  people.  Two  o>  phaned  children — both  of  them 
bright  and  good  and  true — are  separated  in  a  great  city  and 
the  book  records  their  experiences  and  their  final  happy  re- 
union. 

A  Workman's  Confessions.     Translated  from  the  French  of 

Emiic  Sou vestre  by  Floyd  Hayes.     5x7  inches.     194  pages...        80 

Peter  Henry,  the  stone-mason,  tells  his  life-story.  The  son 
of  a  workman  of  Paris,  by  industry,  honesty,  and  fidelity  he 
lias  come  t<>  an  old  age  of  comfort  and  competence.  The  nar- 
rative abounds  in  suggestions  to  young  workingmen. 

King's  Messenger.     By  Emily  Huntington  Miller.    12mo. '  Il- 
lustrated         90 

The  news  of  Mrs.  Emily  Huntington  Miller's  appointment 
to  the  presidency  of  the  Women's  College  of  North-western 
University,  at  Evanston,  111. ,  comes  simultaneously  with  the 
publication  of  her  latest  book.  It  is  a  story  for  the  Epworth 
Leagues.  The  title  is  "  The  King's  Messengers,"  and  it  is  a 
history  of  young  people's  Christian  endeavor  to  give  Christ's 
message  to  "  the  least  of  these  ''  his  brethren.  Its  young 
women  are  the  "  ministering  children"  living  in  America  and 
in  the  present  generation. 

The  Friendly  Five,    By  Mary  C.  Hungerford.     5x7  inches. 

278  pages.     Illastrated . ." ". 90 

A  remarkably  straightforward  and  interesting  storv  of  girl- 
life.  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  heroine  is  little  ISlfie,  the 
pet  of  the  school,  or  the  red-haired,  befreckled  charity  pupil, 
Mary  Ann  Stubbs,  who  is  certainly  heroic.  The  pluck  and 
perseverance  with  which  she  did  her  task  of  detective  work  is 
the  sort  that  makes  boys  think  more  of  girl  nature  and  girls 
think  nore  of  themselves.  The  influence  of  the  book  cannot 
fail  to  be  elevating. 

Winwood   Cliff  Storio.     By  Daniel   Wise,   D.D.    4    vols. 
Illustrated.     Price,  $3.60.     Sold  separate  if  desired. 

Winwood  Cliff ;  or,  Oscar,  the  Sailor's  Son 90 

Ben  BUnker ;  or,  Maggie's  Golden  Motto 90 

Uodcrick  Ashcourt.    A  story  showing  how  a  manly  boy  and  a 

noble  girl  bravely  battled  with  erre  t  troubles *. 90 

Thoriiclirt'e  Hall ;  or,  Why  Joel  Milford  Changed  his  Opinion 

of  Boys  whom  He  called  "  Goody-Goody  Fellows." 90 

Few  writers  for  young  people  have  enjoyed  so  wide  and 
long-continued  p»pularitv.  Several  hundred  thousand  copies 
of  his  books  have  been  soil,  and  the  demand  is  undiminished. 
The  secret  of  this  success  is  to  be  sought,  perhaps,  in  the 
author's  thorough  knowledge  of  life,  his  warm  sympathy,  and 


that  inborn  relish  for  a  good  story  which  still  shows  in  his 
voice  and  eye.  The  joung  people  of  these  books  are  not 
marvels  of  good  looks,  or  good  conduct,  but  they  are  not 
stuffed  with  sawdust,  and  what  they  Bay  and  do  is  told  simply 
and  with  a  pleasant  humor. 

Sketches  of  Jewish  Life  in  the  First  Century.  Nico- 
deiuus  ;  or,  Scenes  in  the  Days  of  Our  Lord.  Gamaliel ;  or, 
Scenes  in  the  Times  of  St.  Paul.  By  James  Strong,  S.T.D. 
12mo.  Cloth.  Illustrated $0  i 

By  means  of  two  simple  narratives  the  learned  author  shows 
us  the  impression  made  upon  the  people  of  Palestine  by  Christ 
and  the  first  apostles.  Great  care  has  been  taken  to  secure 
accuracy  in  every  reference  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
nation  and  period  A  book  for  all  grade*  above  junior. 

Along  the  Anatavv  :  The  Record  of  a  Campaign.    By  Mary  R. 

Baldwin.     12mo.     Cloth ! 

It  was  a  campaign  against  a  saloon  well  intrenched  in  the 
wealth  and  social  position  of  its  proprietor.  How  the  people 
were  aroused  and  how  they  fought  it  to  the  death  is  the  record 
in  this  book.  For  young  men  and  young  women. 

Around  Bronton.     By  Mary  R.  Baldwin.     12mo.    Cloth II 

Brouton  was  aristocratic  and  Northville  was  a  neighboring 
mill-settlement  with  very  little  God  or  Gospel.  This  is  the 
story  of  Margaret  Berry,  a  Bronton  girl,  who  felt  •'  called  "  to 
do  some  great  thing  for  the  Northville  people.  How  the  work 
prosp  red  this  story  tefls. 

The  Little  Corporal ;  or,  For  One  Hundred  Days.  By  Car- 
lisle B.  Holding.  5x7£  inches.  357  pages J 

We  believe  that  it  is  well  for  the  youn?  people  of  this  gen- 
eration to  know  and  understand  the  enthusiasm  of  war  times. 
For  this  reason  we  commend  "The  Little  Corporal."  the  his- 
tory of  an  Illinois  boy  who  enlisted  in  the  Union  army  for 
"the  hundred  days,"  in  response  t"  Lincoln's  «ull  in  1864. 
The  narrative  will  interest  and  instruct,  but  will  not  demor- 
alize. 

Colonel's  Charge.  By  Carlisle  B.  Holding.  5x7i  inches.  550 
pages 

Companion  volume  "  The  Little  Corporal.'' 

Under  the   Queen ;  or,    Present  Day  Life   in  England.    By 

Henry  TucKley.     5x7  inches.     278  pages 1 

This  volume  records  an  American  tr  veler's  impressions  of 
England.  The  author  is  a  close  observer,  and  gives  a  bright 
and  readable  report  of  British  social  and  political  institutions. 

Sheila.     By  Annie  S.  Swan.     5Jx7.  inches.     382  pages 8 

This  is  one  of  the  most  effective  of  the  many  studies  of 
Scotch  life  which  we  owe  to  this  author's  industry  and  talent. 
Mrs.  Smith  sees  life  very  closely  and  constructs  a  story  which 
never  fai's  to  interest,  and  !-ometime>,  as  in  this  case,  is  of  real 
strength  and  power.  The  plot  will  have  no  mysteries  to  the 
old  novel  r  mler,  but  the  character*  ure  of  real  ftv*h  and 

ll.xvl. 


Maitland  ol  LauricMon.     A   Family   History.     P.y   Annie  S. 

Swan.     5x7  inches.     447  pa_es ." '....". JO  90 

One  of  the  best  of  the  many  "  Swan  books  "  is  "  Maitland 
of  Laurieston."  The  best  part  of  it  is  the  careful  description 
of  the  wholesome  life  at  the  laird's  Scottish  farmstead.  The 
young  people— especially  Agnes  Laurie — are  flesh  and  blood 
creations  whom  it  is  a  pleasure  to  know. 

Ht. Veda's;  or,  The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Haven.     By  Annie  S.  Swan. 

5x7  inches " 90 

Tiiis  is  a  tangled  tale  of  shipwreck,  love,  and  conspiracy. 
The  plot  of  the  story  lacks  novelty,  but  is  cleverly  developed, 
and  the  character  of  the  "  Pearl  "  is  charming. 

H:izell  «fe  Sons,  Brewers.     By  Annie  S.  Swan.    5x7  inches. 

153  pages 75 

This  is  the  latest  of  the  Swan  reprints.  It  is  a  temperance 
tale  of  marked  p_ower,  showing  how  "  Hazell  &  Sons,  Brew- 
ers," found  ruin  in  their  brew. 

Ayers  of  Studleigh.    By  Annie  S.  Swan.     5x7    inches.     318 

pages 90 

V/ho  Shall  Serve.     A  Story  for  the  Times.     By  Annie  S. 

Swan.     5x7  inches.     442  pages 1  00 

f'atnscu.     An  Historical  Komance.     By  Samuel  W.  Odell.    5x7 

inches.     284  pages 90 

The  author  has  woven  the  biblical  incidents  of  Samson's 
earlier  life  into  a  vigorous  narrative  which  closes  with  his 
elevation  as  judge  over  Israel. 

Delilah.     By  Samuel  W.  Odell 75 

Sequ  1  ta  "  Samson,  the  Giant  Judge  of  Israel." 

His  Cousin,  the  Doctor.    A  Story.    By  Minnie  Willis  Baines. 

5x7  inches.     198  pages 90 

An  exposure,  of  Christian  science  in  the  form  of  a  story. 

This  book  has  a  genuine  mission  to  perform,  and  through  the 

•     Sunday  school  library   its   argument,  example,   and   ridicule 

may  penetrate  and  clear  some  bcfogge-l  mind.     It  is  indeed  a 

story  of  love,  but  will  do  more  than  entertain  its  adult  readers. 

How  I  Became  a  Sailor,  and  Other  Sketches.    By  Omer 

J    Gillett.     5x7  inches.     223  pages 75 

In  ten  letters  to  his  grandchildren  an  old  man  tells  of  his 
box  hood  in  Indiana,  and  how  he  came  to  be  appointed  a  mid- 
shipman in  the  United  States  navy.  The  letters  are  very 
familiar,  like  an  old  man's  story -telling,  and  are  full  of  the 
mild  excitements  of  a  boy's  life  in  a  Western  river  town  a 
generation  ago. 

Roc  U to  n.     A  Story  of  Springtime  Recreations.     By  Kel  Snow. 

5x7  inches.     280  pages 90 

Stephen  Lyle,  Gentleman  and  Philanthropist.    By  Mrs. 

Belle  V.  Chisholm.     5x7  inches.     256  pages 75 


Dorothy  Cope:  Containing  "  The  Old  Looking-Glass  "  and 
"  The  Broken  Looking-Glass."  By  Maria  Louisa  Charles- 
wurth ' $1  5< 

The  Ministering  Children  was  a  famous  juvenile  a  generation 
ago.  The  fathers  and  mothers  of  the  buys  and  girls  of  to-dav 
enjoyed  it  better  than  any  other  book.  The  two  sweet  stories 
in  this  volume  are  from  the  same  peu,  and  are  full  of  the  same 
power. 

MISS  HOLT'S  STORIES  FROM  HISTORY. 

1.  Ashcliflfe  Hall.     A  Talc  of  the  Last  Century.     By  Emily 
Sarah  Holt 1  5i 

The  characters  are  English,  some  of  them  noted  men 
in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  and  George  1.  A  wholesome 
story  well  colored  by  history. 

2.  Robin  Tremayne.    A  Tale  of  the  Marian  Persecution.    By 

Emily  Sarah  Holt 1  5( 

A  thrilling  storv  of  the  dark  days  for  true  Christians  in 
England  under  "  Bloody  Mary."  An  inspiring  book. 

3.  Isoult    Barry   of    Wynscote.     Her   Diurnal  Book.      A 

Tale  of  Tudor  Times.     By  Emily  Sarah  Holt 1  5< 

The  Diurnal  (Journal)  of  Mistress  Barry  covers  a  stirring 
period  in  the  history  of  Great  Britain.  The  story  that  runs 
through  it  is  as  charming  as  the  character  of  the  noble  young 
women  who  wrote  it. 

THREE  DRINKWATER  BOOKS. 

Written  for  American  children  by  Jennie  M.  Drink  water 
(Mrs.  Nathaniel  Conkling),  one  of  ti'ie  best  of  our  authors. 

1.  Not   Bread    Alone;    or,    Miss    Helen's  Neighbors.      By 

Jennie  M.  Drink  water 1  S2i 

The  title  suggests  the  religious  tone  of  this  story,  but  the 
religion  is  of  that  pervading  and  inspiring  sort  which  makes 
the  story  stronger. 

2.  Only  Ned;  or,  Grandma's  Message.     By  Jennie  M.  Dr'mk- 

water 1  2/ 

This  has  the  general  characteristics  of  the  Drinkwater 
books ;  a  thorough  knowledge  of  boys  and  girls,  a  lively  narra- 
tive, and  a  spirit  of  noble  living. 

3.  Fred  and    Jennie;    How  they   Learned  about  God.     By 

Jennie  M.  Drinkwater 1  2« 

These  children  are  younger ;  the  style  is  simpler.  A  worthy 
book  for  the  junior  scholars  in  a  Sunday-school. 


The  Cash  Boy's  Trust.     By  Aniie  M.  Mitchell  Payne 1  (X 

The  hero  is  a  cash  boy  in  a  great  city  store.  He  has  adventures 
and  misfortunes,  is  falsely  accused  and  imprisoned,  but  comes 
out  all  right  in  the  end. 

The  Odd  One.     By  Anne  M.  Mitchell  Payne 1  ii." 

"  Marsjerv  is  nobody  ;  don't  have  her,"  was  what  the  other 
girls  said  when  they"  were  going  to  have  a  party.  She  was 
homely  and  unattractive,  and  even  at  home  she  wus  always 
"the  "odd  one."  This  book  tells  how  Margery  lound  her 
place. 


Rhoda's  Corner.    By  Anue  M.  Mitchell  Payne $1  25 

Bhoda  was  one  of  those  active  girls  who  aie  always  doing 
something.  She  was  pretty  and  rich,  and  succeeded"  in  mak- 
ing "  her  corner  "  in  lite  very  cheerful. 

Outside  the  Walls.     By  Anne  M.  Mitchell  Payne 1  50 

They  were  prison  walls,  and  young  Armstrong  had  been 
inside  them  two  years  for  stealing  from  his  employers.  The 
struggle  he  had  to  win  back  a  place  in  society  amid  u  cold 
shoulders  "  and  hard  hearts  is  the  theme  of  this  story — a  good 
one  to  set  young  men  and  women  thinking. 

THE  DARE  TO  DO  RIGHT  SERIES. 

By  Julia  A.  Matthews. 

Stories  of  American  life  in  country  and  town.  Full  of  the 
charm  of  life,  truthful  to  boy  and  girl  nature,  and  conveying 
memorable  lessons  in  conduct  and  character. 

The  nve  volumes  in  a  box 5  00 

Grandfather's  faith,  Our  Four  Boys, 

Giuseppe's  Home,  Susy's  Sacrifice, 

Nellie's  Stumbling  Block. 

THE   DRAYTON   HALL  SERIES. 

By  Julia  A.  Matthews. 

The  younger  boys  and  girls  of  the  home  and  Sunday-schools 
will  enjoy  these  books.  They  arc  stories  of  peculiar  power, 
replete  with  incident,  entertaining,  and  instructive. 

Six  volumes  in  a  box 4  50 

Lawrence  Bronson,  Fnmk  Austin, 

Christie's  Grandson,  Eagle  Crag, 

Allan  Hay  wood,  True  to  His  Flag. 

THE  WIN  AND  WEAR  SERIES. 

By  Mrs.  S.  S.  Bobbins. 

The  average  American  boy  has  to  make  his  way  by  his  own 
efforts,  and  our  girls  develop  their  share  of  independence 
of  character.  There  is  real  profit  in  such  narratives  of  hard- 
won  victory  as  Mrs.  Bobbins  always  gives  us. 

The  six  volumes  in  a  box 7  50 

Win  and  Wear,  Faithful  and  True, 

Tony  Starr's  Legacy,  My  New  Home, 

Ned's  Motto,  Turning  a  New  Leaf. 

THE  MARSHALL  LIBRARY. 

By  Emma  Marshall. 

For  a  generation  the  books  of  Emma  Marshall  have  been 
popular  in  England  and  America.  They  are  never  sensa- 
tional or  extravagant,  but  the  homelike  virtues  in  which  they 
deal  commend  them  to  every  household  where  children  are 
found. 

The  twelve  volumes  in  a  box 6  00 

Between  the  Cliffs,  Katie's  Work, 

Three  Little  Sisters,  Little  Primrose, 

Three  Little  Brothers,  Stellafont  A  bbey, 

Consideration  for  Others,  Little  Peat  (Gutters, 

The  Two  Margarets,  Boger's  Apprenticeship, 

The  Two  Holidays,  Mattie  Frost. 


Roughing  It  with  Alick  Baillie.    By  William  J.  Stewart. 

Illustrated.     ICmo $1  oo 

There  is  a  liveliness  and  a  "  go-aheacl  "  quality  in  this  book 
which  will  make  it  toothsome  for  an  American  school-boy. 
The  English  lad  who  is  its  hero  is  thoroughly  boy-like,  mid 
he  has  a  rough-and-tumble  school  experience  in  the  north 
country. 

The  Happy  Home.     By  James  Hamilton,  D.D.     Illustrated. 

Ittrno    75 

These  chapters  were  written  for  woiking  men  and  women, 
with  the  purpose  of  bring'm;r  the  Gospel  Mid  its  fruits  into 
their  hom^s.  The  hook  is  entertaining,  but  serious,  and  well- 
deserving  the  attention  of  s  'ber  people. 

Bending  Willow;  A  Tale  of  Missionary  Life   in   the  North- 
west.    By  Jane  Gay  Fuller.     Illustrated.     16rn» 1  00 

An  Indian  book  of  the  right  sort.  The  author  has  traveled 
among  the  led  men,  and  collected  a  large  number  of  their 
myths  and  traditions,  which  material  gives  this  story  of  mis- 
sionary zeal  the  very  fragrance  of  the  forest. 

Mabel's  Experience;  or,  Seeking  and  Finding.     By  Marion 

E.  Weir.     Illustrated.     16mo 75 

Such  a  book  as  is  needed  to  strengthen  faith  and  love  and 
trust.  A  strong,  pure  story  for  young  men  and  women. 

Cripple  Dan.     By  Andrew  Whitgift.      Illustrated.     16mo 75 

Seven  stories  of  Christian  work  among  the  poor.  Especially 
appropriate  at  the  present  time,  when  the  Church  is  doing  more 
than  ever  for  city  missions. 

Days  of  Old.      Three  Stories  from  Old  English  History  for  the 

young.     Illustrated.      16mo 75 

Three  time-honored  legends  of  Saxon  England  and  Childe 
Roland's  battle  with  the  Moors.  From  such  romances  many 
children  have  caught  their  fondness  for  historical  reading. 

Faithful  in  Little.     The  Story  of  a  Carrier  Dove.     By  Author 

of  Daisy  Maynard's  Four  Promises.     Illustrated.     16mo 75 

An  ingenious  book  for  children.  The  birds  are  the  story- 
tellers, and  do  their  part  very  well. 

Butterfly's  Flights.     By  Mrs.  S.  S.  Bobbins.     6  vols.    12mo. 

Illustrated 4  50 

Butterfly  was  a  ten-year-old  girl,  and  these  books  are  the 
record  of  her  travels  to  Saratoga,  Niagara,  Montreal,  and  other 
places  in  America.  They  are  written  simply  enough  for  any 
child,  and  will  furnish  considerable  information  as  well  as 
entertainment. 

Three    Little   Sisters,  and  Three   Little   Brothers.     By 

Emma  Marshall.     Two  volumes  in  one 1  00 

Stori«'s  of  English  home  life,  but  full  of  that  lightness  and 
happiness  that  goes  with  childhood  in  every  land.  The 
stories  are  complete  in  themselves,  and  the  book  is  especially 
appropriate  for  families  where  there  are  both  boys  and  girls. 


Footsteps  of  St.  Peter.     Being  the  Life  and  Times  of  the 

Apostle.     By  J.  K.  Macduff,  D.D.     12mo $2  00 

This  is  a  really  excellent  lite  of  the  trusted  apostle  Peter. 
The  author's  acquaintance  with  the  locality  of  the  story,  his 
familiarity  with  the  manners  and  customs  of  those  times,  and 
especially  his  insight  into  Peter's  character,  distinguish  this 
lxx)k. 

The  Woodcutter  of  Lebanon,  and  the  Exiles  of  Lu- 

cerna.     Bv  J.  R.  Macdutf,  D.D.     16mo 1  <>( 

The  scene  of  the  first  tale  is  laid  in  Palestine  in  the  reiirn  of 
King  Solomon.  By  means  of  a  simple  narrative  it  illustrates  a 
strange  institution  of  the  Hebrew  state.  It  is  followed  by  a 
touching  recital  of  the  sufferings  of  the  Waldensian  Christians 
in  the  fierce  persecutions  of  1686. 

A  Highland  Parish.     By  Norman  MacLeo-l,  D.D.     16mo....        7J 

Dr.  Norman  MacLeod,  the  mo.-t  popular  Scottish  preacher 
of  the  century,  published  in  Goo<l  Words  his  Reminiscences  of 
a  Highland  Parish.  A  number  of  them  ;ire  here  reprinted. 
They  are  racy  with  the  air  of  the  glens,  and  sparkle  with  \\it 
and  anecdote.  To  read  this  book  is  almost  to  hear  the  old 
story  -telling  doctor  at  his  own  fireside. 

Stories  of  Vinegar  Hill.     By  Anna  B.  Warner.    6  vols.  Bound 

in  three.     Illustrated.     Ifimo,  in  box 300 

They  called  it  Vinegar  Hill  bc-cause  the  people  there  were 
so  hardened  and  soured.  These  stories  relate  to  the  work  of 
a  Christian  woman  among  the  children  of  that  unpleasant 
neighborhood.  Such  books  will  do  good  so  long  as  the  world 
has  sour  spots  to  sweeten. 

Days  at  Muirhead  ;  or,  The  Lesson  of  Little  Olive's  Midsum- 
mer Holidays.     Illustrated.      16mo 75 

A  quiet  Christian  story  for  young  girls,  describing  an  En- 
glish giri's  vacation  in  Scotland,  and  a  lesson  that  she  learned. 

Leaders  of  Men.     A  book  of  Biographies  specially  written  for 

youth.     By  H.  A.  Page.    Illustrated.     12mo 100 

The  lives  of  nine  worthy  gentleman  of  this  century,  namely, 
The  Prince  Consort ;  Robert  Dick,  baker  and  geologist ;  George 
Moore,  philanthropist;  Commodore  Goodenough,  the  Chris- 
tian sailor'  John  Duncm,  weaver  and  botanist;  Samuel  Gre^; 
Dr.  John  Wilson,  the  missionary  and  scholar;  Dr.  Andrew 
Keed,  philanthropist;  and  Lord  'Laurence,  Vict-roy  of  India. 
The  subjects  and  the  style  command  attention.  Especially 
recommended  for  bovs. 

Little   Mother  Mattie.     By   Mrs.   Ellen  Ro*s.     Illustrated. 

12mo 1  <") 

Nine  charming  stories  in  one  volume,  showing  the  beauty 
of  Christian  charity. 

Clara  Stanley;  or,  A  Summer  Among  the  Hills.     Illustrated. 

16mo  75 

This  story  of  a  young  girl's  summer  experience  ought  to  in- 
fluence it«  readers  strongly  for  good. 


